You may say the names are dumb,
And they are, in that they don’t
Say a thing to do with moons.
They’re just faked old times—Wolf, Snow
Worm, Pink, Buck, and on and on—
Names meant to sound like they meant
Some weird, deep thing once on farms,
Out in the woods, back when souls
Lived close to soil, to real world.
So what? Don’t you get it yet?
All words are names; all names fakes.
So far, all the fakes are dumb,
As in mute, as in your toys,
Dolls in your mouths, cues for you
To speak in tongues, sign your times.
You should know the day is near,
When signs will speak as for signs,
Tell you what’s who, leave you mute—
Buck Moon, Wolf Moon, Snow Moon, Cold.
