Postcard From The Moon
We met in the dark
at the end of the world,
the last moonhunter and I.
In the melting evening's whisper-light
we raised our glasses high.
in a hot air balloon
he propelled with a treadmill of fish,
and when he stretched up for me fondly
I felt inclined to grant his wish.
I held his hand
when the fever rose,
I sang nonsense songs while he bled.
I poured out when he asked me to give him
a pool of moon for his bed;
but when I was a sliver
devoured by night,
he went to the sun for a shadow.
'So, this is the end of the hunt for the moon...'
~ my postcard pinned to his pillow.
~July 2016
posted for real toads
some nonsense for Kerry's
Top: Man Drinking With The Moon, vintage postcard, c.1910
Footer: Man On The Moon, via steampunk tendencies on pinterest
