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Poem

I am the moon and you are the sun. I would say you are all the stars in my sky, but as the Earth rotated continuously around you, the number of stars started to shrink. You’re shrinking too, but you’re just the Sun, at least that’s what the horizon tells me. The horizon goes on hikes with me, and while collecting pine-cones, it gives me advice from the songs it whistles as we walk. “Be wise like the blue spruce, be as cunning as the sea at night, do not spend your life revolving around the Sun,” it tells me. “You are pale and quiet, and everything that the Sun touches turns into an avalanche of molten rock. Try not to melt around the Sun.” The horizon guides me until we reach the top of the mountain--you are there, the ocean is there, the spirit from the beach is there, the girl I used to be is there, and the trees have surrounded us in a circle, quietly humming as the clouds drift away from your face. I see that you are also accompanied by the aspen trees, and as a creature of light, I infuriate them. Us, as a duo, infuriate them--sometimes I just wish you wouldn’t give them as much cinders as you do. I am the moon, and you are the sun. On most summer days, you face away from me because you are ashamed, today I face away from you because I am now too warm from the excessive given light, I am no longer in debt to you.

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