I used to believe

A full moon begat

An empty sky.

Upon completion

The slate wiped clean.

Start afresh

The cycle renewed

We begin again.

The moon is rarely noticed

Unless she is full,

When she is her most complete,

Her most spectacular.

We also remark when

She is absent,

Our world darkened,

The night sky emptied.

When she fades into nothing

Or gestates toward fullness

We think little of her,

Pay no heed to her journey,

Notice the beauty of our sky

But not the progression

Of phases moment to moment

From antiquity to eternity.

It’s the waxed and waned

We remember least.

Only the newness and completion

Worthy of note.

Yet they are just two moments

Significant, distinct,

Two steps in a waltz

Across the heavens above.