Sleepwalking

I forgot to post a reminder of last evening's conjunction of an eyelash-thin crescent Moon and Mercury. From here, at least, it was exquisite.

The wisp of Moon with its elusive companion brought to mind the first poem in Alan Shapiro's newest book of poetry, Tantalus in Love, which I have just finished reading. The last lines:

            ...Make us see
      no matter where
 we gaze that the bush burns
      unconsumed.

 And we, the spun clay, will rise
      to a receding
 holiness and sing, as it recedes,
      How filled with awe

 this place is, and we did not know it.