Promise me, my dear, not to wake me
if this is all a dream.
Salvation thrums in the silver threads
of moonlight
unspooled across the whitewashed window sill.
Shrouded in the filtered light
I wonder what secrets
you have harbored
these past years.

The man on the moon sees all,
hovering below the wisps of clouds
that blanket the world.

Tell me, how did you escape
to the dimpled terrain while I am left
here to wrestle with the truth?
I cannot leave everything behind
as you can.

Take me to the man on the moon
I cry out,
but the roundabout is deserted
and the heavy rain drowns out my weary voice.
There’s a faded sign high above my head:
cable car to the moon, it promises.
To the moon, to you, to a place
between the comforts of the past and the uncertainty of the future.

They are rusty now, the cable cars.
Out of commission
ever since that lucky man
who lives on the moon disappeared
from this sorrowful earth
years ago.

All at once, the last morning star fades
and the sun peeks out from behind a bank of clouds.
See, I knew you would wake me
because suddenly everything feels
real again.