River Moons

The double moon, one on the high backdrop of the west, one on the
curve of the river face,
The sky moon of fire and the river moon of water, I am taking these
home in a basket, hung on an elbow, such a teeny weeny elbow, in
my head.
I saw them last night, a cradle moon, two horns of a moon, such an early
hopeful moon, such a child’s moon for all young hearts to make a
picture of.
The river—I remember this like a picture—the river was the upper twist
of a written question mark.
I know now it takes many many years to write a river, a twist of water
asking a question.
And white stars moved when the moon moved, and one red star kept burning,
and the Big Dipper was almost overhead.