when my ribs are cold
and the streets asleep
and I am empty,
I know how the moon loves me.

when my hands are dust
and the lights are moths
and I am lonely,
I know how the moon cried for me.

when my lungs are bones
and the windows dead
and I am sorry,
I know how the moon made the stars for me.

when my eyes are fog
and the owls grieving
and I am unlovable,
I know how the moon loves me.