But in my dreams

The moon was ready
to part
unlike me
the silver ball, with all its crews
in its single hue
hidden forms, out of sight
knows it’d reincarnate
anytime
in the huge blank of blue.

I am never done it seems
with transactions
of all sizes, shapes and colors
alas
I am never ready
to leave the body.

That pending interaction
or the other relation
to be cleaned
or for some elusive attraction
I hang on;
even if I reappeared on the screen
memories will be washed
like the night
or those holes in the star
gleaming with life
sensing light
stable, steady.

But in my dreams
I often become the moon.