By Jacob Polley b. 1975 Jacob Polley
Although a tide turns in the trees
       the moon doesn't turn the leaves,
though chimneys smoke and blue concedes
       to bluer home-time dark.

Though restless leaves submerge the park
       in yellow shallows, ankle-deep,
and through each tree the moon shows, halved
       or quartered or complete,

the moon's no fruit and has no seed,
       and turns no tide of leaves on paths
that still persist but do not lead
       where they did before dark.

Although the moonstruck pond stares hard
       the moon looks elsewhere. Manholes breathe.
Each mind's a different, distant world
       this same moon will not leave.

Source: Poetry (September 2006).


This poem originally appeared in the September 2006 issue of Poetry magazine

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September 2006
 Jacob  Polley


Jacob Polley was born in Carlisle, Cumbria, in 1975. He is the author of three collections of poetry, The Brink (2003), Little Gods (2006), and The Havocs (2012). His novel, Talk of the Town (2009), won the Somerset Maugham Award. He lives in Fife, Scotland and teaches at the University of St. Andrews.

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Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Nature, Stars, Planets, Heavens, Fall, Trees & Flowers, Landscapes & Pastorals


Poetic Terms Imagery, Rhymed Stanza, Consonance

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