Tracking the lunar procession.
Confident rise
and yet humble.
Not so high in the sky,
but I still can’t touch you.
Hanging on every day.
Intimate with sin and virtue.
It still gets under my skin
and it
tears me up inside.
Watching that mirror fade
everyday.
This was supposed to be
the sweetest kiss,
a thing of beauty,
but now,
it’s a eulogy.
We give more
when we watch
our reflections fade.
Moving across the sky,
weren’t you just here yesterday?
I’m a little out of my mind.
Holding on by four strands;
then there were three,
and I
hope you understand.
HG – 2019
