tonight, the man in the moon
hides behind clouds his globe.
grandfather of worlds, chief
general of oceans, magical staff-
fingers drawing quilts of tides
over every sleepy child’s eyes.
tonight, he failed to draw the
shades over my eyes. a lizard
on the darkened moon of my
ceiling lamp befriends me. years
ago I would’ve crawled under the
double blankets of my eyelids,
shivering like a lizard-child.
years later I recall the crinkled
grin of granddad, how he used
to languish over my crib, face
shiny as the man in the moon
tonight, I search out his face drawn
by constellations of nothingness,
the way stars are born and perished
the way the man in the moon touched
my tiny baby face, played with my
tiny baby hands, and vanished
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