There’s the moon
floating overhead
and here we are below
pushing meat and bread
and drink into our mouths
groping for the light
switch, going from room
to room— distrustful
of what doesn’t make
the same noises we do.
There’s the moon
floating overhead
and here we are below
pushing meat and bread
and drink into our mouths
groping for the light
switch, going from room
to room— distrustful
of what doesn’t make
the same noises we do.