Prompt poem

(For a friend's poetry prompt Facebook page. The prompt: "The moon slips its mooring and drifts away.")


The moon has fallen into the pond behind the garden.
I row out to where it bobs,
Luminous, tangled in lilies, soiled with duckweed.

It's too big to fit in my boat --
An awkward shape, and much too heavy,
And the boat in any case too leaky. And so

I leave it there, another lost regret,
Like last winter's fallen stars,
Left melting through the snow.