Listen to the moon

Slings and arrows

were all I felt

in my ignorant

know-it-all youth.

I could shout at

a hot summer moon

from a ridgertop

as if it were God.

Hearing no breeze

no crickets, no answer

just the faint whisper

of far away trucks.

The tall grass bent

and crackled under my feet,

releasing the sweet aroma

of crushed ripening seeds.

The moon sailed up

to the top of it’s arc,

fell away, over the hills

that separated

me from the ocean.

I had to wait, I hadn’t

lived nearly enough

to get even a glimmer

of what matters

and what doesn’t.

I asked God in a prayer hastily 

scribbled on a scrap of paper.

And it’s been answered!

Many times, if I listen

to the wind and the moon

and the far away trucks.

To the crows flying

from treetop to roof top.

to the shrieks of children

in the playground down the street.

To the soft breaths

of my beloved as she

sleeps. Before the hawks

and turkeys awaken.

And the absence

of sirens is a blessing

that I pray could be shared

with all the sleeping billions.

Because sometimes

God answers with words

and sometimes with

a powerful silence.

Shalom, salam alaykum,

Peace be with you.

Yes, you heard me,

Listen to the moon.