To the Moon, I Guess
Moon, you are a glimmerous thing,
like a piece of silver that forgot it was
meant to be a coin,
tossed somewhere between two worlds,
shining and unsure,
the way I feel when I step outside
and see your face in the sky.
You, who were once a goddess in a toga,
now stuck in my playlist,
like “I Got You Babe” on a Sunday morning,
the kind of love song that gets played
while the world still sleeps.
I think you know this fact, Moon—
you have forgotten how to be human.
You don’t cry. You don’t blink.
You just hover there,
looking down at us like a mother
who no longer cares about the dishes,
but will always remind you
to wear a coat in the winter.
Tell me, Moon,
does it feel strange,
to be this old and still
so obsessed with light?
When you used to be fire,
now you’re just a reflected dream.
And yet, you glimmerous,
flickering like a lonely flame in a dark room,
still worthy of songs we don’t know how to forget.
- Oizys.
I Got You Babe, Sonny and Cher, Top of the Pops 1965