The reflection of the moon sits
in the middle of a pond.

My favorite thing to do as a kid was to play god.
I sat near the water with swaying willows
and the sharp scent of the night air
and dipped my legs into the sky,
coating myself with what I believed
to be heaven:
the stars and the
inky blackness below me.

Ripples in this water
were simple evidence
of my eternal and formidable
power.
Who else could cause waves in the sky
but God?

But no matter how hard I tried
the moon evaded me,
and I pretended we were friends
and this distance was nothing more
but physical space between us.

I could keep playing God,
and she could still have her space.  

I may have been baptized with the sky
and gone home
dripping with constellations,
but always wondered,
maybe all I had
was the space between
me
and
the moon.

I knew I was not worthy of her anointment,
but I pray whatever argument we had gotten into
would one day be resolved.

I no longer play God

But all I have now
is still the space
between
me
and
the moon.

And I wonder if I would have become God
if we had just
made up.