Moon on the Wall
The moon smoked last night as the window looked on.
The moon noticed and winked. “You are staring at me. What are you thinking?”
“Not thinking. Just admiring,” the window continued, “I want to be like the passing cloud to trace your face but I am far away.”
“I am but one and three quarter seconds away,” the moon mused.
“And the absence in that delay is already felt,” the window protested. “I want you here. Now. I want you to come in my room.”
The moon crooned, “I am late but I am here.”
Last night, the moon came in through the window and splashed itself on the pillow. Each time the moon did, the window recorded a crater on its wall, the wall that the moon reflected on. The wall that became the moon.