Maple & Moon

Why should I describe
my feelings for the backyard maple
and the moon I spy
through branches like a lace curtain
as it rests upon mighty Mount Tom
that from here I must conjure
from memory and imagination
as the neighbor’s house blocks my view
I mean the maple is not really so old
as trees go
kind of middle-aged I think
or maybe assume stemming from my desire
for companionship
I don’t really know
having only lived here 13 years
which is the longest I’ve lived anywhere
but not so long if counting
against the life of a solid maple
and the moon is the moon
to which poets greater than myself
have written many a rapt epistolary
so there hardly seems any value
in my tepid musings on moonlight
and what it reveals