Hello Morning Moon

I woke up really early the other day. It's pretty quiet when the world is asleep and there's no-one but you and the moon.


The morning moon pays me a visit
at first light, in a sea of silent blues.
My old friend, my love.
Brightest of bright things.

She is pushing back a blanket of black.
She is shooing at the stars, as if
wiping away fresh tears for the day
The brilliant, beautiful introvert.

She admonishes me for looking,
for dreaming in her radiance.
But I am the bound, empty earth
and I will only ever have one moon.

I used to gaze upward and hesitate,
lost in a forest or at sea in a storm.
But she taught me an end to uncertainty
and proves it in her gravity.

Ah! We two satellites, forever dancing
the slow, mournful dance of grief.
And I don't understand if she longs
for a collision or a break of orbit.

But I can't erase her from the sky
anymore than she can go to ground
or either of us journey to Jupiter,
however much a relief it might be.

Her pale, thin silver speaks of pain.
Of nihilistic lament and fire and ash.
But I think she knows I await the mornings.
I think she knows I await.