David Henson

The Full Moon and the Tree Limb
 
One winter night
when I was home from college,
I lay in bed staring
out the window at the moon,
round as an orange
and balanced at the end
of a bare tree branch.
I could hardly believe
my eyes when the moon
seemed to roll slowly
the length of the long limb.
 
I was amazed rotation and orbit
had cooperated to achieve
such a feat.
I realized the tree itself
had to grow for years, lifting
the limb to the exact height.
Someone had to build the house
at the correct angle,
install the window just so.
I realized even I
was in on it,
leading my life
to arrive at that precise
time and place.
 
I wondered could it all be
a gigantic, cosmic coincidence?
 
In the decades since,
I’ve never seen such an eloquent
performance of the moon
and a tree limb.
If I happen to one last time,
I won’t wonder how or why.
I’ll simply wonder.

David Henson and his wife have lived in Brussels and Hong Kong and now reside in Illinois. His work has been nominated for three Pushcart Prizes, Best of the Net and Best Small Fictions and has appeared in various journals including Orchards Poetry Journal, Field Guide Poetry Magazine, Moonpark Review, Literally Stories, and Fiction on the Web. His website is http://writings217.wordpress.com. His Twitter is @annalou8.