The moon has grown three sizes smaller
as I’ve watched her tonight,
first taking up a whole window pane
and now just a sliver
as she climbs the hills behind my house.

Lovers too far apart by normal measures
seem to float on moonbeams
when the magic is just right,
bridging silly constructs like time or distance
in a bid for a perfect bedtime story.

The morning is far enough away
that I can practice breathing while I watch
the moon follow her path, whether I am blue
or full of joy or muddled over silliness
like time or distance