ECLIPSE Drenched Renée Gregorio last night the moon became luminous button of shifting light, from fullness to a thin wedge, like the rind of a lemon cut precisely thin for the dark cup of espresso it flavors. We saw this light through magnified eyes as we stood side by side on the front porch. Flanking the moon's light as it waned were two stars made more perfect as the moon shed itself of its need to shine so brightly, and I thought about how much more palpable light is as it's leaving. I saw how these others suddenly had a chance to hold a brighter place in the night sky. I remembered hearing that one star was really the planet Saturn, and the other just a star, all relating like circles of water revolve around a stone suddenly thrown into a river, and the triad—moon, Saturn, star—became an arrow pointing only into more darkness, more gathering clouds, but it was not a dark that made me heavy, but a dark that made me curious to turn toward it, to face it, knowing if I could be the tip of that arrow piercing darkness, I'd keep this heart that never gives up on itself, or anyone else, for that matter. I'd learn more about what it means to shine. ©2010 Renée Gregorio