Moonwalker

 

Moonwalker

The night’s face, pocked with stars.

In the stellar wind, we soar.
From this pale light,

acknowledge insignificance, watch
the blue spinning so far away, so close.

I am that finite point

of nowhere, of nothing, wondering
when the sun will truly darken,

if I will see tomorrow, today.

 

* * *

“Moonwalker” first appeared in Ligeia’s Winter 2019 edition.  Many thanks to poetry editor Ashley Wagner for taking this poem.

2 thoughts on “Moonwalker

  1. Intriguing – suspect I’m not the finite point of anything as I continue changing. Been camping yet again – time blessed with stillness, conversations on hold, Nature “speaking”, awareness emerging. Your closing haunts: how many tomorrows remain? how close to FINAL (if not finite) am I?

    Liked by 1 person

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