When I visited Northampton
I had never heard of you.
Imagine a covering of leaves,
an inch off the ground,
that seems to be a complete and complicated world
to the crow searching for her supper.
Imagine the unobserved moon overhead,
and all the stars.
I got a lesbian discount at the little bookstore.
There were two moms pushing a stroller down the street together outside,
and even the mayor was one of us.
My companion, a poet friend, was high on new love
with her rock singer girlfriend.
In a week, they would be at the Red Sox playoff game,
and I would be back home, flying solo in Motown.
In 2007, I had never heard of you,
but, observed or not, the Moon keeps searching for the perfect face to show,
and the stars still cross beside her as they love to do.
What made you look up, sweetheart,
at the same second I did?
Is it possible to measure the moment
when crows remember that the sky belongs to them, too?
for Marian's "Harvest Moon" challenge at Real Toads.