"...to dance with you till we're both dead."

looking for the moon: a moon festival reckoning

I want to see your eyes,

just for a little bit.

Just until all the candles fall quiet,

and I can no longer hold my breath,

and the suns burn out,

and the stars uncross,

and your hand opens with the candlewick

on top of mine.

I want to hear your heart,

oh how it beat that night with the rain

with the rain and the tempest and the thunder

and the castle with the people abiding their impulses

that seemed like impulses, not fate,

back then. But we wouldn't know.

"I want to see the moon" I say.

You draw the curtains with one hand.

"Must be cold up there" you say.

Yes, it must be cold where there is noone beside you

but milleniums and milleniums of stars,

eternity,

and a great big mirror.

"If we go, we go together," I declare thinking you'd find it childish. Impulse. Or fate?

To my surprise you take my hand. And, darling, here

we are. No, not impulse.

My love,

I want to dance with you

till we're both dead.

A crystal globe, a music box.

We believe there eventually comes a day

when each finds a religion

to latch onto, and to hold,

when times get rough. I found mine.

Looking for the moon is what we'll do.

Forever looking for the moon

even if just for a little bit.