rosh chodesh

the Eastern hills cough up the moon's last rind
and soon enough, the rising sun eats that.
The new day's threshold, where bare toes may find
an offal offering from someone's cat.
Two orbits, damned near in the common plane
collision courses for celestial ships.
Each keeping doggedly to its own lane,
inevitably slated to eclipse.
Celestial clockwork, tabulating days,
and festivals for Jews who scan the sky.
Or Muslims, 'though their count is out of phase;
such calendars are Hell to justify.
Tomorrow, she'll sink West, behind the sun;
each crossing marks another month that's done.


All reactions:2Judith Gottlieb and P Faith Hayflich