She sees the moon
while we toss the bags,
while we sit and chat.

She sees the moon
with her head tilted up
to take a swig of beer.

She sees the moon
while I stutter
in the sunlight.

She sees the moon,
and I'm driving
just a little too fast.

She sees the moon
from the open door
of my grandfather's garage.

She sees the moon,
and the moon
sees her.

I only see the moon
glimmering,
reflected in her eyes.

I wonder if she
sees the moon too,
reflected in mine.