It only hurts when I think about it,
but it hurts not to think about it.
Although there are multitudes of stars
brilliant against the night, all of that fades
when the moon is missing—
when the moon has run away
to orbit another planet—
when I said that I loved you and only you
and so the moon grew dim for me and only me.
And now if I crunch an apple between my teeth,
I pretend it is the heart you proved I had.
And if I hear euphony—trickles of water in dreams—
and if I see a crimson-throated bird crying into the fog,
I think of you and I think of me.
Then I think of me without you,
which means I think of nothing.
And finally I think of how these are only words
that you will never read.
Because there is no light to read them by,
as the moon's brilliance has danced away.