I wonder about you two.
Togetherness does not seem
Exciting, not like my time.
Over me the sun and moon
brood silently. Shopping bags
rustle during the day, later,
there is laughter, there are hot meals.
Finally, under the quiet silver moon,
there is the swift cutting of air in the park,
where there are two, apart,
riding bicycles beside each other.
I suppose all is motion for you also.
But it is motion oriented elsewhere,
to say the least. The days began
worrying about how bills were to be
paid, for then and later. Lunch was
arguing and coldness, never seeming
to go beyond the beginning. And finally,
there was no rest under the white moon,
because there was me crying, demanding
to be fed.
The sun and moon look down on me,
for the same reason they are scared
to speak to you.