A moonbeam dropped down, 

a slip of silver flooding this space

before me; I stand outside, alone

in a world anticipating another

night falling, the settling of day. During this

periwinkle time when we should tuck

our worries to bed, soak in a light 

that promises sweet, sweet rest,

I wait for the calm to descend.

Last night my husband dreamed

of angels flying above his head

as I listened to his heavy breaths —

he drowsed so deeply 

that I might have felt envy 

but for the quiet time to pray.  

I’ve found this moon time communion

has become more and more of my 

every night, my mind full of uncertainty.

It is not a waning faith, just a real question

about what all of this means —

Are we changed forever by this novel

virus, this menace we cannot see?  

It just leaves pain and unease.

But these moonbeams feel clean,

like the light Adam and Eve slept under 

the first night, dreaming in a perfect world,

in a perfect slumber, before disquiet began;

I think I’ll dwell on that, fall into deep rest, 

dreaming of what one day will be 

forever clean 


—C.L. Fisher, April 2020

Unless otherwise indicated, all content, including writing and images, are the work of C.L. Fisher and may not be copied, used, or distributed without permission.

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