Copper Moon

A penny scratched and falling fast.

A world rushes up and slips past.

An ocean of longing tugs and releases.

From void to void.

From moonrise to moonset.

Always either running from the sun

Or faded until you are nearly blue in the face.

The was once a world wherein men spoke moon.

There were Fish Moons and Harvest Moons and

Full Worm moons.

There were Beaver Moons and Hunter Moons and Milk Moons.

There were was a galaxy of moons.

A whole history of moons.

A plethora of moons.

And now we are down to one.

And the one moon is falling fast.

And fading as it falls.

And dying in the light of a new day.