August Moon

You are an august moon,
peering through the trees
into my east window,
telling me it is bedtime.

I watched you go from crescent to full,
now waning back to crescent,
soon to disappear until September.

High in the morning sky,
well after sunrise,
you greet me as I head out the door.

You are not, as the bard states,
an inconstant moon,
but on a natural cycle,
Nature’s ancient calendar,
ticking off the lunar months.

Sometimes, when full,
you wink at me
as if we share a private joke.
I don’t know the punchline.