Somehow I have missed the moon in this last cycle. It may have been due to lots of rain and cloudy skies. Or perhaps, the trees are so full and tall they have hidden my visible horizon. There is also the possibility of my own sheer exhaustion; I have forgotten to look. I am often thinking of the moon in my pots. I think of moons as many things. They might be moon jars or vases or boats. I call today’s pot a Moon Blade.

Crescent

Boat moon

rows through

ocean sky

pulling us

to sleep. We

float up

come morning.

—Nupur Maskara, in West Trestle Review, 2024