At a fourty five
Between two branches
The moon sits
Precariously balanced
Temporarily wedged.
Its radiant glow dampened
By an eclipse
Awful enough to hold me over
If this was our last meeting.
I can see the depth of the moon
It's just a ball someone threw
Now stuck and forgotten
I want to reach out and touch it
Bringing me back to the time
When I thought I could.