Love Song For Toccoa Poem by R.S. Farris

at the top of the hill, near the college, last night,
was a beautiful yellow-gold moon
it was painted in place, with the soft touch of brush-strokes
like contrails across the night sky

with the radio off, i crept slowly along,
and the moon, a balloon on a string,
slid along smoothly beside me until the road dipped
and it slipped through my fingers

-

near the old graveyard, i found it again,
and turned right just to watch it a while
at the coffee shop, i missed my turn, and
went on to a glorious view up the road

a left turn, and the moon was back at my side,
its soft luminescence surrounding the sky-
i drove too slowly and blessed the familiar
roads, for my eyes were above me

-

the longest red light in town caught me tightly
and held me, enthralled, at its corner, the garish
fluorescents of all-night gas stations a poor mockery
of the soft bright orb across the road, behind

the old model t's cafe, where one-egg breakfasts
and the toast lady used to sleep the night away,
waiting for us. 'is this all there is? ' -i asked-
'it's almost enough'

-

time reconvened, i took a breath, the light turned green,
and i came home, leaving the gentle, ephemeral moon
behind me on the hill