Full Moon

Full Moon

When this bruised medallion, the moon,
rose tonight
I thought how solitude
allows what human kind cannot –
openness to this hill whose eucalypts
are my hands,
the sky
which has seen me drown.

I float up
through these leaves, my skin
breathing this blue again;
the moon
hangs round my neck,
under me men move to harvest
or lie against a golden stook
eating black bread
drinking red wine.

The moon is the pupil of my eye
I go as far as the blue hill goes
I flow like a river in the dark.


'Full Moon' from Going On (McIndoe, 1985), © Michael Jackson 1985, used by permission of the author. Recording from the Aotearoa New Zealand Poetry Sound Archive 2004.

Sponsor this poem

Would you like to sponsor this poem? Find out how here.

Recordings

Books by Michael Jackson