“Then God made two great lights:
the greater light to rule the day,
and the lesser light to rule the night”
— Genesis 1:16
No one writes of the moon of day, the one that’s overshadowed by the brilliance of the sun, the one that sits in blue, that’s pale and white as cloud, its craters scarcely noticed and its phases gone unchecked. At noon, lovers holding hands do so in a golden light,
beams that warm the faces
locked in smiles from solar shine.
While ignored at 4pm,
our satellite must reckon that its time is slowly coming, when its giant, yellow rival will sink below horizon’s line. And it is then, when couples feel a chill, that Luna’s lamp aglow alights their footsteps and their kiss, casts a suitor’s shadow ‘neath a window washed in song, that daughters eye its pockmarks from their fathers’ telescopes, that poets pen their verses for this orb of wolf and tide, that nature finds its way through dark in the shroud of a sleeping sun.
Andreas Gripp
RF Image
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