Blue Rochester Moon

We stood under a Californian sycamore, and I was flooded with the reminder of more of the same. But here, encountering sameness felt like a sign. Leaves more green, time more still, the air crisp and hawking down my legs; when we returned to our bed in your sister’s house, you told me you couldn’t wait to marry me. And I’ve already joined you under the sacrament of our sycamore tree.

And again under the blue moon.


Leave a Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.