is alabaster moon spinning cold in vacuum distance
or white-hot and yearning for the waters of earth
would that she could pull the oceans to her face
perhaps to cool the furnace of her deepening desire
perchance to hide her telling tears in tidal flood
silver is pain like shards that tell her she’s still alive
watching her lover run away away away to hide
a dark hind in a forever night forest
shadowy on the edge of vision in the umbra of Helios’ glare

still –

better to chase dreams of Narcissus
loving her own face in the pools of Neptune