I thought the full moon would never
stretch past its
perch, inches above the horizon,
its glow caressing the vineyards
in the early morning when
we leave for work.

Now we have half a moon
hanging from the sky’s vertex,
requiring us to rely on the beginnings
of sunlight to illuminate our
walk to the truck.

One morning, the sky is empty,
as the moon prepares to renew its cycle.
Johanna tells me tonight she will cut her hair.
The waxing moon will help it grow
long and healthy.

By Eliane Nieder