Have you seen the moon?

Ask the evening breeze tomorrow.

“Of course I have,” it’ll whisper.

“Last night—when your eyes were elsewhere—

I blew her right off her path,

wrapped her in the rustling arms of the treetops.

Now she’s drifting freely, light as a secret,

going wherever she pleases.”

She always appears with such poise,

rising too eagerly to the highest branch,

wearing her calmness like a crown.

Well—

I couldn’t let her remain so serene, so sure of herself.

Mischief is too delicious to resist.

And the roller coaster I pilot doesn’t brake just because someone wants it to.

On the deep-blue cloth of the sky, stained and speckled,

her path flashes like a bird mid-flight—

or a single thread of filament, suddenly set aglow.

She is there—

unexpected and luminous—

as if she had always been,

as if she belonged only to tonight.