My Moon

I gather my moon,
place it in a blue bowl
beside the coffee machine,
seems to like it there –
round midnight.



Like you it hums softly.

It grows a green garden, too.

I believe you two are brothers
from a good family –

always nourishing with
just a touch.

And neither of you made
any promises to stay,

leaving sometimes for days
on business, then arriving

home again as if somewhere
else had needed you more.