Tonight is a good night for nostalgia,
so go to the lake.
The moon says hello from the surface,
you wave politely.
What memories shall we make tonight?
Perhaps the trees will light aflame
in remembrance of
three hundred forgotten stars.
Your sighs howl in branches
and wind up in your lap;
don’t forget to look
up – and see yourself always upwards.
Eyes put on colder lenses
as the night grows softer, fuzzier.
Warmth yearns for freedom
from weathered tombs.
You let go of the clinging in your eyes,
scattered free on moon beams.
So they walked on the moon,
forever forgetting home.