The moon would like more irony.
She wearies of earnest admiration.
She changes, the thumbnail of a lost
girl. The heavy seas love her,
but she envies comets’ long missions
beyond the worlds. She snares one,
careful to avoid its claws, and dreams
as she strokes the wings of silky ice.
Torn from the blue lap of the Earth,
she has been falling in place ever since.
Grey Sparrow Journal 