the light connects us from the antenna in the sky
acrobats awake at the challenge to fall,
stacatto points among a landscape of
neverending descent.
falling from this little apocalypse of the sun,
the cold death of the moon is all that remains.
some will linger in orbit before they succumb;
some will perish in the ultimate gravity of the moment.

from a balcony outside the next big nothing,
i witness this stratospheric attempt at connection.
i am alone with the stars,
as the moon stirs our drained emotions that were destined for the oceans of here.
another sunrise calms the tide,
but it hardly dries out the oceans-
this splitsecond every morning always
beckons the same question?
why must the moon have levity and
meddle in affairs here?
why could it not just leave me and the stars
to wallow and drown in our own tears?

was it once that the moon has its own oceans
it's own rivers of discolored blood,
it's own pools off collected tears?
was it once that the moon lost it all?
and in this tiny fragment of time,
i feel connected with a new soul,

until the sun glares bright and burns out my memories of sympathy.
until the day begins and alone really means being with myself.
until breathing is only meant to lead me to one more night of
collective self pity with acrobatic stars-
who one by one, surrender.

08/14/2003

Posted on 08/14/2003
Copyright © 2025 Andrew S Adams