When the moon so high
Rises through the clouds at night,
I think of you. Wisps covering her pale face,
I raise them back from my eyes.
Right near the hills, close to the earth,
I close an eye and look at you, hurt
By the blinding gaze of the moon’s ball,
Comforting my mind with no pupil,
No iris to shatter my hopeful world.

As I look to her for inspiration, cold
beneath the sheets, I wait,
Hoping for your searching gaze, that you will turn your face
That moment to the moon, which twixt the same hours
returns our gaze,
Our eyes fixed at the same place.

So high the moon flies, at breakneck speed,
Faster than I can run, though she stands so still,
A vision only up o’er a hill.
I imagine she sees both you and me, more clearly,
Than perhaps you or I ever will.
Yet soon to her is not as far as from me to you,
In time and space not measured by the moon.