I look out my window, consider the moon.

Bright light in the distance, illuminates, invites

But doesn’t insist.

I could close my eyes and it wouldn’t exist.

The moon may seem silent,

But it has a voice.

I stare at its whiteness,

And I remember its source.

The source is the sun, white hot and exploding.

Its nature consuming.

The sun is insistent, relentless, pervading.

The moon is more humble, gentle, inviting.

It takes from the sun, and offers a portion.

The sun is brilliant but I cannot receive it fully without being consumed.

The moon invites us to drink just enough for today,

Just a taste of what lies beyond our vision.

 

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