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Among the Unawake poems from the Great Plains by Rodney Nelson

M o o n

Moon of the terrible into zenith
at midnight and no howling but it took
over the whole next noon sky
even with
cloud it had a glare that the iced prairie
reflected and added to
I watched my
going and did not look up or think to
until I reached an old known tree
a peach-
leaf willow
that havened nonprimary
colors from brown to orange
what a moon
noon in January had secreted
and the branches dormant or not seemed to
be looking up
the cracked ones too
at some
new not yet widening rip in the white
to want
up already with another
beginning
why wait
on sun and the noon
to open when nothing had ended
I
would have to watch not only my feet in
the midwinter anymore
give heed to
what else a howl might mean to announce at
midnight in the moon of the terrible

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