then
your pale frame
eclipsed my sight,
you, the moon,
caught me staring
too long and i blinked
your face burnt black
into the backs of my eyelids,
there were nights
i would rub my eyes
and count the spots
you’d left like stars
(one two three four
five six seven eight)

then
i thought the numbers
in my head were all
the reasons we were wrong
i started sleeping
with my eyes open
if i shut them i’d see
holes and think of your craters
and how the men who tread
your surface don’t clean
their boots well enough
don’t think to ask you
how you like it before
they plant their flags,
but they offered you
the world, and all i had
to offer were the spots
in the backs of my eyelids
(one two three four)

then
rockets counted down
the seconds until they could
meet you and i
counted you out,
contented myself by
staring at the sun,
blinked and i
saw spots
(one two three)

i am no man,
would not simply
stake a claim so bold.
in hindsight,
you, the moon,
had already claimed me,
wrapped your evening flag
over my eyes
and made me yours,
i just never
noticed the fabric,
couldn’t see past
the spots in my eyes.

now i only see you in hindsight.