The Generous Moon

The bulb had blown in my untidy room
which faced the wind from two of its four walls
and ceiling too. My late evening withdrawals
were suddenly like entering a tomb.

I left the curtains open, so the moon,
if it had the slightest inclination
to signal, could've done so. Revelation?
Omen? Apparition? Ghostly croon?

Thunder, thunder, thunder, thunder cats?
I would've seen it, however discreet.
But golden, dumb, bereft of caveats
the moon just poured its wine onto my feet.

No homing howl came from the vales and peaks
as James was breech-birthed in the ambulance.
Information, key or happenstance,
is better shared by syndicates and cliques.

So now I'm trudging up stone-necklaced hills,
and my new cousin's burbling by the hearth.
My boots are teeth I pull from muddy earth '
a feeble mouth too late for dentists' drills.

I hover near a trough of nettles, thistles,
just high enough for the signal to get through
and I communicate with cold epistles
via mobile. Something blood and land can't do.