i celebrate alone
the new moon as
she rises over the
soft blue curve
of earth. the purity
of white is an
illusion, a point
blank shine of sun
upon rock and sand,
a place without a
soul and has no
pretensions of being
what it isn't. come
visit me, she says,
and i'll give you
nothing in return,
but write about me,
stand in awe of me
and my orbit, my pull
upon your water, i
am here for a reason.