There was a smudge on the moon last month.
My fists clench as I grasp my escaping calm, my eyes flickering.
My voice has escaped, and I cannot bring it back.
For crying out loud, there was a smudge on the moon last month.
There was a smudge on the moon last week.
My mind is racing itself, no winner emerging,
And nothing can pull a smile or a sound from me.
I mean, there was a smudge on the moon last week.
There was a smudge on the moon last night.
I froze below it, my lips rounded, but my throat still,
I choke in silence in its regard, rivetted beneath its marred light.
For there was a smudge on the moon last night.
There’s a smudge on the moon tonight.
I frantically strain upwards, but it’s miles beyond my reach.
Staring with stretched, frenzied eyes and rushing blood.
Because there’s a smudge on the moon tonight.