Moon Chasers Ekphrastic
A clouded night. But still, your light persists. A girl runs and runs until her legs no longer suffice. A family shuffles into the car, eyes towards you. Up, they drive. The air here is so unfamiliar that they have almost forgotten wind. Its call, in tandem with moon, revives. It has been so long since we felt alive. Tonight, you are brighter; tonight, you are closer, closer, closer. You have an ancient name, one recalled only on extraordinary evenings, a name that reminds us we too are guilty of theft. Up, up, towards the cloudless peak. People crowd the streets to try to capture your form, beg for a closeness that cannot come. This distance aches, and yet. It is the middle of summer. There are no deer left to lend their names. Absences, absences; wolves howl in their place, domesticated kin join too. Wildness, they have forgotten. Will a symphony calm your light? Will a symphony stop us from trying? If only, if only; to catch up with the moon is to let it take your breath. To catch up with the moon is to start all over again.
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