Two Moon Sutras

Vincent Hostak

February 19, 2023

i.

What is cold and spare and sadly silver 

is sumptuous to another.

That it doesn’t hold the warmth of clove and cinnamon

makes little difference to the fox.

He roots beneath my windowpane, in full moon’s light.

He wasn’t raised on figs and dates, jellies and curds,

but found the holy syrup within some bitter berry.

He’s unconcerned that the meat of a dry dead wren

makes for an angry, stubborn chew.

He may even have come for the tender cat

behind glass, once perched upon this ledge.

What’s banqueted to him is especially clear 

in a brighter light once each month,

so that even in the shadows,

he uncovers the moon’s deliciousness.

ii.

For a moment,

the clouds end all objections

and reveal a pale white skin.

The moon will dazzle you

and engulf a pastel quarry’s pores

when this is where you dwell.

While atop

a higher knot on earth’s long spine,

you observe a pebbled garden.

The jade plant faintly lit,

the sound of your voice leaving your lips

are brushed on the same cloth.

Vincent Hostak is a writer and media producer from Texas now living near the Front Range of Colorado south of Denver. His recently published poems are found in the journals Sonder Midwest and the Langdon Review of the Arts in Texas and as a contributor to the TPA. He writes & produces the podcast: Crossings-the Refugee Experience in America.