There is a crack down my center
diremption black-balling an existential ease
The Moon knows who I am
sighing my name in her bending light
beaming to my tattered rim

Oh, lustrous bulb emblazoned in elevation
a sister to mine
she dangles in confidence
companionless, wandering among stars
and ever-changing, ricochet
between lunar phases evasive

Her metallic optimism calls to my insomniac iris, but
our stunning single source of light
does possess a polar
of two, where
a potent cynicism sleeps soundly
out of view, in
darkness everlasting

Pale in her weariness is she
scaling east to west, but
sabbatical she is not
for methodical hands protest in sway
But what would come of us if The Moon came
crashing
down?