Eucharist Moon

It is out tonight, the Eucharist moon…
 
old man Jones says
on the darkest of full Eucharist moon nights
in the loneliest puddle of rain water on the sidewalk
if you look at the reflection just right
the world will be eternally reborn,
re-birthing endlessly so that every chocolate bar
you eat will taste like the first time
you ever ate
a chocolate bar.
Every hug will be as warm and naked and new
as the first hug you ever gave.
Your love, if you are lucky enough to hold one,
will be as your first love, and every bad-breath kiss
will vanish like ice
in boiling water.
 
It snowed
12 nights ago.
This puddle is the chilly remains
of melted snow
and the rain that stopped
12 minutes ago.
 
I am by the college
where I walked away from a colleague
many years ago
after having renewed him with hope
and a hug.
 
I feel as if I am a cracked ice sculpture
who will never completely melt into a water puddle again.
I imagine people saying, “He’s a little cracked,
but artistically so, perhaps, beautifully? Therefore,
he should remain as he stands,” and wonder how
I am ever going to get imagined dialogues out…
it is the imaginary dialogue machine
in my head-
spawned from loneliness-
that keeps the cracks forming,
and so the ice sculpture Neil
would have only millions of hairline cracks
within and upon its skull, complete with a little motor inside,
the rest crystalline.
 
There is a streetlight in the reflection of the puddle.
I remember uncaring things, objects,
and walk away, unencumbered by whether
the water is holy or not.