This faraway sea, tranquilly free from water, sits in concave solitude. Without waves and breakers it may do as it pleases, gazing out at the green and the good. Milky marble, Moody’s eye, always revolving in its dark socket and piercing the gloom, never fully silver in truth. Footprints from giant steps still ingrained in unforgiving dust that no breeze sees fit to stir. All breath long gone and flags unfluttering, undecayed. Perhaps it is this unchanged beauty pulling at our tides that makes us long for mooned monotony and perfect glowing skin, ignorant as we are that close to, our spectral sister still suffers the acne of ancient craters and pits, her beauty unmarred by her blemishes, scarred satellite silently singing to the wolves.
© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016
Photo from Pixabay