Between the Moon and the Ice

Miles above Greenland 
heading home—our plane 
slowly being overtaken  
by the evening behind us—
there was just enough light 
for me to see miles of ice 
far below and the moon 
in a sky that was turning 
dark. Think of endings:
day, trip, season, a time 
when cold was cold, 
and warmth kept its months.
Down there was enough 
frozen water to drown 
cities and towns, 
to overflow coasts 
and make new ones.
Some things I know: 
It’s the last third of my life. 
Weather’s not what it was. 
We were flying west. 
Love goes where it must.
I can’t undo what has been 
done. The year turns 
November to unknown.
The moon above the ice,
was neither full, nor crescent,
and I cannot say for sure  
whether it waxed or waned.