For how many June nights
has the moon arced high above Sandwich Range,
before disappearing like a St. Joseph Aspirin
in God’s belly?

Having to pee at night, also known as nocturia,
reveals any number of such pale arcs
to those of us
who awaken from dreaming so hard.

For how many June mornings
has the heron sailed so close along the shore line,
before vanishing in the woods like some winging
in God’s dream?

Reading distractedly, long known as a feature of ADD,
unveils any number of such sudden flights
to those of us
who awaken from thinking so hard.

For how many June afternoons
have my sons and I cooled our jewels together
putting the raft in the lake,
our scrotums tightening in unison?

Being older, also known as all-wetness,
discloses any number of such shrinking moments
to those of us
who awaken from counting so much.