Old Sun and Moon

A top floor window

view of the whole city,

contemplative perch,

taking in the hazy, afternoon sun

or tracing a lattice work

of streets and lights.


I never really see the Sun,

I never really see the Moon,

but I know they are there.


In the middle

of my 800mg mornings

I remember lost siblings,

estranged by time

and walls

and the “City Limits” signs.

So direct

and constant.


Here we go

and no further,

out on to the fire escape

and watch my neighbours,

like a tepid voyeur.

Through their cracked blinds

and splintered defenses;

it’s silly,

but I wonder

who they are missing too.


Do they miss the Sun

and the Moon,

like dimly remembered siblings?

Is it here that they are

and when they choose to be?


My coffee gets cold,

so I go back inside

and try to forget about the window;

try to forget about the past.


Old Sun and Moon,

were here long before me.

Stretching their legs across the sky

since I was young

and even though I don’t see them,

I know they are there,

like long gone siblings,

lost in the haze

of the fading, summer sky.


HG – 2017

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