garden on the moon
chiming in the watery recesses of the city
dark and damp and gritty but
it was a living
when the rain fell like a downpour of burning wicks
onto our bed of grass and twigs
living, living for the dream of
forgetting and forgiving ourselves
washing clean the numerous shelves
records of mistakes we made, what might've been
no hatred, nobody to intervene
eyes glazed with utter contentment when
we yawned leisurely, trustingly
as if sleep were our friend again
like our childhoods had never ended or begun
but there we were, resting in the pocket of a night
that never had to see the sun
i believe life had settled into that moment
chiming and giving
living, living
on that full night in monsoon
crowned with leaves and
the knowledge the end was soon
feeling like we had never stopped believing in the garden on the moon
looking up with our heads in the starry dew
hoping we could reach it soon.