The moon is loneliest when she is full
I know this because she whispered this through my window on a bitterly cold February night
I might not have heard her except for the snow
Which murmured 'hush' and 'listen'
When the crows and chickadees tried to sing their sorrows into the almost silence
Sometimes the moon runs out of tears
She has cried all her tears and her pale face can't bring herself to hold this profound
Grief any longer.
She has held it day and night,
Seen and hidden as she traversed the sharp blue sky,
So that it is too large even for her gravity.
It falls away from her and she is left even more lonely in the cold air.
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