The Moon In June

Late one evening (I can't say which)
Something made me get up
And get outside.

Crickets. Traffic. A breath of wind
And, still glistening wet,
The rising moon.

The blood, the breath no longer mine
Not me; a person, only
Stood for all men.

The orb ascended, resembling more
A piece of Earth than Heaven.
My weeping ceased.