Pinching the Tangerine

Most will never know it rose so low and close

It hangs there
just above the horizon,
like a bright piece of tangerine
pinned to the inky sky,
its orange beam 
shimmering across the bay.

Early morning moon over San Francisco Bay.

It rises slowly,
its burnt glow
morphing to beige,
bracing for Tuesday 
to wash it out 
and eventually leave 
but a light crumb
to mark its whereabouts.

Most won't notice, later,
that skinny sliver
of last night's moon,
once the sun's up
and the day's underway.

Most will never know
it rose so low and close to us,
so close you could close one eye,
reach out with nearly pinched fingers
and pluck it from the sky.

They'll have to awake 
at about 5 to do that!