Equally as Real Douglas Gillette: 7-21-15

There was not a puff of wind or breath of breeze
when the sickle moon slid sharp and gleaming
through the darkening trees,

and took its station on a cloudless eve, paused as
if observing me, held my gaze, then turned
its crescent round,

and sprinted up to apogee. Of course, I realize
that all of that was me, whoever that is really,
making magic, bounding

through the cluttered things, arranging these for
my own safety and convenience. But still, who
was that watching me

as if it were the moon? Not the me that witnessed it.
Undoubtedly some other self, alien to my identity,
and equally as real

Copyright (C) 2015 by Douglas M. Gillette