On the way into the house
I saw the moonlight
was the yellow of my scarf.
And in my poem the moonlight is silver.
According to science, the color of moonlight,
particularly when the moon appears
full, is bluish.
This is because of the Purkinje effect.
The light is not actually blue,
and it has no inherent silvery quality.
So my poem is wrong.
And actually so is bluish.
In my daughter's picture, moonlight is
every color in the crayon box.
I tell her it’s remarkable and she waltzes off,
repeating, “Re-mark-able.”
In dreams moonlight is commonly a white
ladder angels climb.
We got home by the grace of the moon’s
brightness tonight, when our car lights failed,
23 heart-choked miles riding along
the path from God’s flashlight.
Compared to sunlight, moonlight is said to be cold.
I know this is wrong.
Before bed, I read the astronauts didn't think
there was moonlight or if there was, they didn’t notice—
though they did report a cow floating,
a flashlight held steady in her two front hooves.
