Optics

During this summer's heat, I thought I'd rerun this poem. A reminder of the summertime night sky. 

Optics

The planet shine of Venus studs

the brightening sky, but nowhere

do I spy the wisp of a waning moon,

fellow traveler of this morning star.

I scan my windows without luck, reach

for an astronomy app certain to pinpoint

her. But nothing lights up.

Earth's satellite slipped away.

Her presence enlivens midnight's vault,

and retreat implies a curtain of clouds

or a crescent gone early to bed.

But no, this day she simply doesn't show,

vanishes like a lady in a magic act.

My dusty handbook of the heavens 

concedes her disappearance once each 

lunar month.

Then "Sin Sala Bim" and she's back 

as a silvered bow, ready to set, stage right

the following night.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor