Tell me something

We are just like the moon.
The moon has her day,
and you have yours.

One day the moon is old,
and the next day it is young
and full of life.

the wax and wane and wainscot of the moon
(the man in the moon doesn’t exist)

White lace between her feet
molten silver in her hands
like shell, like bones.

One day you are young,
and the next day you are old
and full of life.

One day I am here,
and the next day I am there.

I am just like the moon
I am just like the sun
I am just like the sea
I am just like the wind
I am just like the rain
I am just like the mirror
I am just like the flower
I am just like the stream
I am just like the river
I am just like the mountain
I am just like the berry, sweet and bitter at once

The sun has its day,
and the seasons each their turn,
and then each day has its night.

And look here, my dear – we are like the moon
and the sun, for this ghostly sometime,
even the seasons turn on.

So it is in this strange time:
one day I am young and strong,
and the next day I am old and weak;
one day I am dead,
and the next day I am alive.

I am just like the seasons
I am just like the months
I am just like the years
I am just like the sun
I am just like the moon
I am just like the sea
I am just like the wind
I am just like the rain
I am just like the mirror
I am just like the flower
I am just like the stream
I am just like the river

One day it is summer,
and the next day it is winter—
and the years have their own music

One day we are here,
and the next

seeking stars

if you came here with a purpose, chère
you may not find what you were looking for

if you wanted to see where the grout grew moldy
in the shadow of decline of a slow malforming decade
in a country far from home

well, you may not find the lines you want

but if you came to borrow something brighter
to rifle through the letters and throw them over your head

toss them in the wind like homemade confetti
throw words into the crackling air

then this might do, for you

(people never look up)