Pale Moon Rising is about Marine combat flying in Vietnam in 1968. Why poetry? Flying itself is poetry, the blending of man and machine with nature in a realm above the earth an environment as harsh, merciless, and unforgiving as it is beautiful. This is not to glorify war nor trivialize it. War is brutal, harsh, merciless, ruthless, and final. The Pilots bring machines to life and launch them into the unknown. Together they fling themselves through vast silent spaces of clear, blue icy air, turn and wheel and bend and dive and soar and roll them upside down, then coax them back to land even though they are shot full of holes and bleeding liquids, when the military mind would dictate a fast jump out of them. This is the spirit of flight, the essence of the experience, something one cannot train for nor can it be taught it can only be experienced. If you ever wondered what it was like, read this and then, perhaps, you will understand.