this moon keeps showing up everywhere I turn
in my words, my bedroom window,
the music that plays through my dreams
on a good day, i pretend that this means something
a sign of some connection or some secret
between mother nature and myself
on a bad day, i think it means i am obsessed
with things that don’t exist
and just like the gravity that holds me down
there is nothing to be seen but consequence
we don’t float away and therefore, gravity exists
we don’t see a hole in the sky and therefore,
the moon is made of cheese or stardust
or some old man’s twisted smile
i don’t want to hold hands with either
i just want to look up and be glad that magic exists
i want to walk off the edge of a cliff and know that I will fall
but there is no correct answer
your moon is the same as mine and the same
force keeps us earthbound
oh, i know you’d like to offer your own interpretation
you dance and i fly and we pretend again and again
that this is something other than science
and in the end what keeps us grounded
is not the dinners and the datebooks and the deadlines
but the final knowledge that we cannot hide from the moon
nor can we float out into space to offer up a kiss
she will always be there, longer and older and
higher than any one of us or all of us together
at night the tides she pulls run crazy through my body
over shores i cannot cover or expose
she is adversary’s ancient echo
drawing us in and under and over ourselves
nothing trite or romantic or representative
of anything other than existence
the cold hard truth hides in all of us,
lit up and made golden by a sun who knows
little more than violence
this moon is anti matter that matters
more than she will show
rhythm and bone
in sky’s last cradle
hollow heart rocking
to and fro
