While The Moon Shines
Tbilisi, Georgia, 05.01.2020. Photo credit: Tom De Maerschalck.
'Who was the first to say I love you?’
a couple gets asked on a TV show,
and both lovers point at each other.
Typical. Who wants to admit losing
control, having a heart that veered
off the road into the wild unknown?
Blessed be love's mystery; cursed be
the misery of loss. I have known both.
Who was the first to say I miss you
when the sky went dark? In Winter,
I traced the outline of your face, my
fingers warming as they went along,
which is to say: I have known the
touch of Summer. 'Make hay while
the sun shines,' they say, but what
about the moon? What do we make
under its steady glow each night?
