Nocturne

My cat
Lives in the moon;
His eyes are moons;
His two eyes are green moons
Like the moon in the winter dusk,
Green, pale, almost white,
Filled with white fire,
Cold moons.

His eyes are harvest moons,
Filled with red fire,
Round moons,
Which blaze unflickering.

His eyes are crescent moons,
Two slender new moons . . .
I have seen them in the eclipse.

I know that this is true,
Because the other night,
He climbed into the moon.
For a moment the moon, the full moon
Rested
On my back fence;
He jumped in,
It swallowed him.

^__Eunice Wallace

Contemporary Kansas Poetry
Helen Rhoda Hoopes
Page 113
(Kansas City: Joseph D. Havens Company. 1927)