Dear moon, I am fading
How many of you are there left?
What are you, moon?
I do not know if you are hollow, or made of solid gold

Dear moon, I am fading. I am not like you, moon.
I fade in and out, I melt into the sea, I rise up again like fields of wheat.
I come together, molten, and burn for a number of years-
And what is a year?
You are a year, moon.
Moon, god of moments!
I’ll build an altar to you,
I’ll throw a black cloth with red fleur-de-lis onto a corner table and on it I’ll put rocks thrown up from the bottom of the sea, grains of rice, and other things that mean nothing.
Friends will bring crystals, and feathers, and lavender pulled from neighbors’ yards. We’ll light ten hundred votives and sink them into mason jars.
Moon, god of moments!
I do not know what you are made of, moon. I do not know if you are hollow, or made of solid gold-
But I do know what I am made of, and I am made of you.