you know, dear moon
in the previous place
I used to see you
every night you wanted to;
see you out the window kitchen
or even as I went up the stairs to bed
or I would step out into the garden
and there you’d quiver in the sky
and shine in the river
and there was just you and I
and not a thought in my mind
and you’d even wake me
with your gentle fingers over my face

but now there’s no high window
to let me catch a glimpse of you
and the shuttered windows will not let you through

if I step outside,
the street lights are too bright
and the crude houses rudely prevent you

it is rarely I have a glimpse of you now…
is it any wonder, dear moon
I am nowadays described as grim-faced…
*and now-a-nights, what about you?