Supermoon 2034 by Yoni Hammer-Kossoy

Do you remember last time the moon
was this close? How its pull felt that night
like a forgotten hum, how its light redrew
the sky like a river in flood?
The first rains had come and gone, awakening
tangs of sage and pine, leaving dust
and an easterly wind, chapped hands and an ache
of something over before it began.
The ground was cold; you stood on my feet
and I held you while we gazed up
at ancient seas and highlands once mistaken
for a man, out at future’s dark glimmer,
keenly aware of how easy it is to fall
balanced on the edge of a spinning world.



Born and raised in the US, Yoni Hammer-Kossoy lives in Israel with his family and when not writing, pays the bills as a software engineer. His poetry has most recently appeared in Picaroon Poetry, Right Hand Pointing, Lunch Ticket, and Cacti Fur. You can also catch up with Yoni on Twitter @whichofawind.