Last night I lay awake
peering at the near-full moon
(waxing gibbous! they say)
competing for attention
with the lights of a still-awake Tokyo.

Is that the same moon
that shone over Lake Huron
whispering dreams to a restless child
sixty-odd summers ago?
How often I’ve let these wane
unaware how precious they might have been,
may still be.