what is the moon?
no one really knows,
but I have some ideas.
maybe it's a felt circle
stuck to a woolen blanket
or a breath of light
the night sky takes
swelling with whiteness,
and then exhaled.
it is the night’s drain
the starlight circles.
the accretion of the glow
given off like pollen
from each humming streetlight.
maybe it’s an eye-hole
cut in the fabric of the night.
it could be a pearl, I suppose
flawed and dusty.
what is the moon?
no one really knows.
