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Image by Jordan Wozniak

To the Sun and the Moon

10.10.2018

When one friend calls you the sun,

and the other calls you the moon,

I guess that makes you a solar eclipse.

 

That’s how you’d feel when they tell you this.

Your light beams dazzle,

dancing around the crisp dark edges,

as sunset meets sunrise for the first time.

 

The morning birds call out

and the crickets chirp,

and it’s like a symphony

you’ve never heard before

because it sounds like harmony.

Like belonging. Like worth.

 

And the other stars come out to witness,

as they place the rectangle lenses

over their eyes and look toward you,

twisting their heads just to see

that in this moment

you’re alive.

 

In this moment,

you’re nearly fourteen billion years

of becoming, atoms slowly shifting,

molecules shivering as if they were

asking space to give them a blanket,

something beautiful to cover them

in warmth.

 

And you’d be there.

A gentle reminder that

without the sun, there can be no brilliance

in the reflection of the moon,

no warmth to cover us in moss and forests;

 

without the moon, there’d be nothing to reflect,

the earth may forget to breathe,

the oceans might forget how to dance.

 

Nothing to expect except

that the days would go on,

we’d build our castles,

our skyscrapers,

we’d lose some of our wonder

about the stars, but no one

would know the difference

of what never was.

 

Mostly, you’d recognize just

how briefly we are here.

As fast as the moon embraces the sun,

it begins to uncover itself.

Unwinds into midday, as if

you wanted us to have a sense

that we were time-traveling,

we could see all of where we’ve been,

what we’ve done, what we didn’t do,

what we wished we did and where

that life was taking us.

As if you wanted to strip down

into the most honest form of yourself,

full of gratitude and wonder

and regret and longing.

 

And then you disappear into the light of day.

The eclipse ceases to exist.

 

And in that last moment

you may look back on your time,

and when you do,

I hope you realize

how beautiful it was.

 

To be dancing across the sky,

to see life as it was,

unique to the moments that you lived,

to see light,

and moss,

and ice cream,

and laughter,

and love…

and to belong somewhere.  

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