But in my dreams

The moon was ready

to part

unlike me
the silver ball, with all its crews
in its single hue
hidden forms, out of sight
knows it’d reincarnate
anytime
in the huge blank of blue.

I am never done it seems
with transactions

of all sizes, shapes and colors
alas
I am never ready
to leave the body.

That pending interaction

or the other relation
to be cleaned

or for some elusive attraction
I hang on;

even if I reappeared on the screen
memories will be washed
like the night
or those holes in the star
gleaming with life

sensing light

stable, steady.

But in my dreams
I often become the moon.