"Why does the moon darken there, and there?
Why does it keep one side away from earth?
In futures cloistered from our kind, where,
where will it roam, and what will it be worth

when all the lights of cities finish burning?"
I ask this, knowing that our love has faded.
One side of you is turned away, turning
instead to watch a cloud, as we are shaded.

"Not everything has to be described," you say,
your eyelid flinching, as if you'll wink or cry.
And this dark moment has become the way
our world drops through space - mostly

undefined, with questions very few,
much like that atom in your eyelid's dew.