In a clear indigo sky the moon waxes full
Her brightness makes me squint through my binoculars
I visit her often, her arid seas and cratered face
As I get older, she's become a wise old friend, without
inhibitions,
who bares her infirmities for all to see
I have difficulty thinking of her as a dead world
Her incandescent light reaches my low wattage
inner taper
The sensation is perceptible
It intensifies my connection to
our infinite cosmic home,
ever ancient, ever new
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