I think of moons I witnessed
back in Buenos Aires, but
I can’t remember any.
I wonder if I ever looked
upward, to our beleaguered sky,
if the ground, so troubled,
had to be watched at all times,
or if we were afraid to stumble
on another body so still
it had become invisible. So many
lost in the middle of the night,
our lanterns so faint
we could only imagine sidewalks,
my heart beating so hard
as an adolescent’s does.
Our minds neglecting moons
was a sign of the danger
that surrounded us,
our failure to acknowledge
what lit up our risky work at night
carrying volantes to paste on city walls,
not knowing even then
that a moon, indifferent and bright,
was blessing us.
