Misconception

 

This is a poem about a moon

that was visible one clear day

in December: three quarters visible -

buttermilk against delphinium -

as framed in a pane of this window:

and a sequence of airplanes

with short contrails, swimming

through the blue, in its direction,

particularly the first seemed sure

to merge with the stationary orb –

but missed it by what looked like

little more that a millimetre.

 

Olive Broderick