I was born in lightning storm
thunder cracking sky roof
spirit eye opening the delivery
shaft folk names of full moons
humming branch breaking, falling
street blocked Buck Moon hiding
off in the reaches young antlers
pushing-through, itchy, eager
I was born under day-before
Hay Moon alfalfa cut, baled
stashed from storm I was born
under the Mead Moon medieval
old pubs peppering flat beer
to sell it I was born a bumpkin
in DC’s Mid-Summer Moon’s
mischief a sliver left in me
slim switch of lightning and this
deep clap of Thunder Moon.
