Imagine the moon as companion,
and it will bring you ease on sleepless nights.
Smile at its quiet path,
its torpid, bright accord of lighted arc,
as though its delaying were willful --
its timeless passage ponderous
to pass the time with you.
For if you find the moon familiar,
it will do what friends are wont to do:
it will ever smile back.
And, no matter what the world's disorders,
what woes will weight your days and bind your nights to waking,
what griefs will clamor after you at night in heavy voices, as laden refrains in your heart,
what other departures, when other hearts revolve and fall away in their own, foreordained arcs,
the moon will always return to you.
The moon is ever more certain than your own sorrows.
Think about it.
Light is infrequent in space -- in existence.
Think about the unlikeliness of it ...
the moon's honorarium of precious metal,
moving and unvarying among measureless cold spaces to find you as it elegantly burns.
It's almost inconceivable -- eternity is mostly darkness, yet
your little corner of night's nigh infinite black is made a rare and argent, kindled silver,
meant uniquely for you,
as bright, and nearly as beautiful, as you are.
© Eric Robert Nolan 2020
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