I wonder what they think,
there alone, in the glow; if
from the draining and refilling
roundness comes a certain
faith. A faith that tells them
all is taken, but then regiven.
What is there to do in the
night, but worry for the sun's
return, but worry that the
moon plays too fickle a role?

Don't panic for the turning
face of the moon, darkness
is only kidding you. Candidly
the night brags of snuffing
out stars, but my sweet vast
black, I say, "We are not
lit to show anyone through
the thick of who we are.
We are lit so each point
corresponds to another
point, and a straight line
can be drawn from one
soul to another. You can
not see a contrail at night,
but I assure you that pilots
have played Yenta to many
a star. I wonder who they
will connect this trip, on their
long transatlantic flight across
oceans and oblivious fish.

dw/06