Passenger Moon

At night beneath the galaxy,
The road is black as you can’t see,
And other cars,
Are far-off stars–
A traffic light is fleeting Mars.

I see my moon, a pale half,
In glass as cold as crafter’s laugh,
Then sailing high, a cratered eye,
Where my window is my sky.

And everything I tend to feel,
Is just bespoke in Heaven’s wheel.
♠ ♠ ♠
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