tiny broken pieces and a faint memory of you

the moon's wide-eyed gaze-fifty two

if you look at the moon,
with your naked eye,
will you be dead or won't ever see yet another one?

if you look at its spot,
wandering what it feels,
your foot against the lot,
will you die of grief?
or of happiness of what you saw?

if you look at it, with your eyes all raw,
will you see a face?
or a desired thing or two?

whatever you do,
the moon will always know
and it will always look back on you
it's gaze on yours,
amost never making you look away.

if it's a dress,
it's the best one on the rack.
and when you look away,
you won't hesitate to look back.