that night we rode our bikes to the fox and laid out a blanket
on crisp cotton tree leaves as the clouds parted to reveal the full moon
that morning, my husband squatted next to me on the porch
where I was trying to play banjo and began to vigorously scrape the floor boards
so we scraped together, revealing these same old things about ourselves
and I found myself wondering again, how much scraping is too much, how much not enough?
the neighbors all came out to see the blood moon and among the crickets
and the wind chimes and the train we heard voices remarking on the sky