On Seeing a Daytime Moon (a poem)

When I see the moon
All pale and low but unmistakably there
In a bright blue afternoon sky,
Like a winking eye hung faint and grey
In a time and place it has no right to be,

I remember all those times and places
I myself have stood all incongruous and out of sync
Like a celestial anomaly exposed
By the unlikely coalescence of the lunar cycle
Of my heart and the diurnal rhythms of my destiny.

Did He who taught the pale moon
To peek out now and then on a sunlit afternoon
Put me here, or there, or there again, as well,
To see that thing that no one thought belonged
And name the thing that no one else could see?