The Moon
AMANDA HAYS

​Ethereal moon,
Pregnant and pale
With frosted luminosity.

She has heard
Millions of pleas,
I-love-yous and
Desperate wishes.

A rounded flashlight bulb
Buried in its enormous socket,
Radiating glimmers of
Lunar fluorescence.

Fingernail clipping
In the glittering blanket of ink,
Which swaddles the infantile world.

She watches the tiny
Pocket of a universe
Seen
From the muted yellow lights of
Shuttered windows.

The giant eyeball of
God,
Pupil-less and vacant
As its human counterpart.

God has stopped
Watching,
The world has stopped
Caring,
And yet the universe
​Goes on.