mr. moon

moon is strange
hanging there silent
and bright like a jewel
a precious round stone
that shapeshifts
disappears and reappears

a magical wonder
beyond comprehension

is it the object of a dream
changing shape slowly
against countless hues of blue
a quiet thing to admire
drawing endless emotions
from the vast variety of soul

it seems so certain

surely always on time

for the wedding
for the harvest
for the conception
or the fading away
of breath

a misunderstanding of light
clearly informing us
that we know nothing