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
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