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The moon was chiseled milk

last night

Swinging in fuzz

smiling at

the low-flying stars

over Century Boulevard

Terminal One

Where I used to kiss you goodbye,

cry

Now the marine layer

cloaks the road

Fog rises up, thick

Slick lights

Ghost town of nine million

Happy moon,

fire waiting at home,

cradles herself

warm

over our town

Where babies

and bears

and Pesach

will come

We’ll cradle them

like the moon, warm

in flannel and bath

Freesia and folds

High over the ocean

With a view of the moving stars

Lights twinkling beyond the fog