My moon hangs low,
Bright and clean
Through the leaves and branches
In the cool night air
Of early spring.
Your moon hangs there too.
Same lingering luminescent beauty,
Same wistful grace
But in your sky.
I imagine you sitting on your porch
Looking out at my moon
As I look at yours.
My sky is tinged a bit
But melancholy is the sweetest form of sadness
Like honey has just the hint of bitter at the back.
I hope your sky is full of joy.
That thought brings some peace to mine
As I stare up
At the shared shimmering beauty
Of our low hanging moon.