Waning Cresent – 8:45 pm
there’s no moon in my tiny square of sky
but the stars are sharp and bright
and comforting
the starlight, a memory
just now reaching me
as I sit here on this second night
(having missed the first one)
and wonder if I, too, am just a memory
perhaps shining over some vast dreamscape
to manifest here, in my yard
as a dream of myself
maybe it’s all been a wild
endless fantasy – this life
and her life too
what keeps us tethered
to the construct of our reality?
perhaps someone is dreaming me
reading an essay or story or poem
that survived across a heavy burden of years
maybe I only think I’m real
much like the stars in tonight’s
velvet soft sky
looking, for all their dazzling splendor,
as if they’re more real than the moon