some nights, it's raining
to the smell of decomposing leaves and wood smoke
and the stars have taken the night off

and i'm the full moon,
all rock powder and collision,
and nights like this, my dust stirs
and my craters ache

i look up,
wash the shadowed earth in my reflected starlight,
try to taste her clouds

i miss the rain

i never met her, but i miss the rain
i don't know why my craters ache but it's because i miss the rain

i don't know what rain does to a body,
the way she washes dust to deltas and floodplains,
the way she makes you grow in ways you never thought you could,
turns grey to green and growing.

i need that.

i don't know that i need that, only that my craters ache, that
my dust stirs, dry and restless...

my life is grand and complex:
i, a cosmic ballerina, engaged in elaborate
planetary dance: turn, pull, reflect,
I look for solace in the sunlight and the shadow,
find joy in the warming and the cooling,

ignorantly lack.


I do not know the shape of you.
I don't know how to look for you.
I don't know that I need to look for you.

If we meet, I will not recognize you.

Soon, the first flower would bloom from my lips.
We would smile at each other.
My dust would feed your clouds and your clouds would feed my skin.
We would be grateful.

I am already grateful.
I do not know the lack of you.
My dust and my craters are enough


except
sometimes, in late Autumn,
when the smell of leaves and wood smoke remind me of
nothing
and my craters start to ache...