The Hamlet Project

Now I’m talkin’ like a fairy. Or a poet.
I’m anthropomorphizing the moon
Sending it walking over dewy hills
Dressed in red robes.
One night with a ghost and I turn poetic.
In an instant.
This makes sense, though, right?
After an enormous shock, you do
See things differently
The branches of a tree stand out
The smell of wild grasses strikes you
When it hasn’t before
You see the circular math of roses.
What is a poem but a close –up on a moment
A close up, like a camera
But with words.
A poem amplifies
Or miniaturizes
Those things that might otherwise disappear into the scene.
It is that one blade of grass
The one bending toward you like a courtier
Heaving under a dew drop.
It is that moon, dressed in reddish brown
Gliding over a hill.