The rain drags in heavy bursts, pellets on the roof,
and the quiet clinks of folk music sound from downstairs,
Kapok trees swaying outside the dirty glass.
But when she looks up at the sky
the moon, half-cupped
Tipping
stares back at her.
The wind shifts the grains of sand against walls,
Clouds of dust billow from the ground
Silence surrounds the open desert plain
but when he looks up at the sky
the moon, half-cupped
Tipping precariously
stares back at him.
The pull of the tides rumbles in the distance,
Their salty scent balancing on the humid air
Waves crashing against weakening rock
Brushing against the white-washed brick
but when he looks up at the sky
the moon, half-cupped,
Tipping so far it may lose balance,
stares back at him.
The lights shine bright even at witching hour
And the shrill tunes of horns echo through the evening
Buildings towering two inches away from reach
A night of endless chaos
but when she looks up at the sky
the moon, half-cupped,
Tipping so far its light may pour out,
stares back at her.
The cabin groans tilting in the grass
And cornfields sway in the quiet night
While the bells of the church ring out the end of the day
but when she looks up at the sky
the moon, half-cupped
Tipping so that it might fall from the sky
stares back at her.
Icy wind howls against the warm wood doors
Fire crackles loudly, drowning the soft falling snow
The white world glows even amidst darkness
but when he looks up at the sky
the moon, half-cupped,
Tipping until it smiles in the sky
stares back at him.
Shielded under the earth’s shadow
The white stars of the night dotting its vision
Sun burning fiercely so that it may glow
The moon hangs in our universe
staring back down at them all.
