We've had such beautiful full moons recently--I was reminded of this poem I wrote while visiting Yosemite. I had to include the woodcut--it's one of my favorites by William S. Rice.

                         Lunacy

This moonlight
          yanks me from a strange bed.
It pulls at the waters in my lymph and blood
                    at the jellied fluids in my joints
                    at the viscous goo inside my eyes
And the convolutions of my inner ear.

It drags me from rumpled sheets,
          from our tangled nest,
          from the scent of our skins
                    made foreign with hotel soap--
And into the tight black blindness of this alien room
Where I navigate by the blinking stars--
          a smoke detector, a TV remote
                    and the deep sea phosphorescence
                              of the clockface.

But this moonlight
          calls from behind the blinds.
It draws me to the window where I press my face
                    to feel the wet and chill and black.

                              And there--
Out beyond the glass is wonder-working.
Where moonlight sifts across lonely deck chairs
                    and glints the rims of forgotten ice
                              in forgotten glasses.
Where it splashes the bones of oak and elm 
          and sugars the pines
                  and silvers the great granite slabs
                              and slides down their far glaciers.
Where moonlight whispers to the ghosts of summer lawns
          and echos in the froth of falling water.
And in the whirling black above the pewter,
          Orion tingles and trembles 
                      and sings the fill.

All this calling me from these strange four walls--
                     calling
                              Come and See.