City night lunar crest
shines a hazey reflection
on winter's icy sidewalk frost.
Under street lights, in a lone pace
a crowd of thermal shadows
accumulate, continuously
narrowing my walking space.
Their collective condensed breath,
a hovering fog
floating around my shirt collar
with them so near, and I so far,
like the moon without stars.
In radiant solitude,
it glows, without admirers,
since city lights dilute its halo hue.
Now out of sight
of artificial light,
countrysides, illuminated
in celestial bright.
In the sky, appear
patterns of before,
connected and close,
the moon forlorn no more.
For a genuine sky, travel far,
since the city lights
make it hard to see
your glistening stars.
