The moon is out of place in the bright midday sky.
Dull and weary, but still radiant.
I think she is worried about me.
She is not wrong to be.
But I wish she would rest.
I wish we could both rest.
I wish I could hang in the sky next to her.
But she would cry.
YOU ARE READING
Black Box
PoetryOriginal poems, much like a plane's black box, documenting the moments leading up to an explosive disaster.
