Where the sea and night sky are stitched together
all is still as a millpond, all is calm
and the moon is reflected perfectly
an uninterrupted disc.
Suspended above and below,
you can hardly tell which is real
and which is facsimile.
But here, at the shoreline
white horses hiss against the shingle
flotsam and jetsam are flung at my feet
as my toes grip to find purchase in the shifting sand.
In my pensive mood, I think of us, of you, of me
and how to onlookers, we appeared so at one.
If only they had looked closer,
if only we had taken the time,
we would have seen the breakers
and the Sea of Tranquility
might have been saved.