How Does the Moon Revolve

he reminded me of a tree feet rooted in the soil his gaze surveying distant hills that strained towards the sky she lived inside the house inside her head travelled instead in a chariot made from dreams sometimes he brought her gifts a bundle of beans a strawberry on a plate she would wait alone in her head as she gazed at the dead summer fire at times like this she could pull herself back to the front confront his world eat his offerings knowing that his mind was on lower things trapped in the vortex of their worlds a mutual gravitational pull each proving gravity wins every time over give and take after the funeral she dragged her chair into the garden with the weeds sitting alone and sipping her tea crosswords abandoned on her knee she hasn’t much to say these days her eyes gaze outwards now and yet i notice that her chair is set back towards the house the question is how does the moon revolve after the world is gone