Cycle

The moon won't say he loves you.
Like a father, its blank face will listen hard
to your midnight misery and say nothing.
 

It followed your car on the way home from summer camps.
Like a father you would plead with it
take me anywhere else. 
Like a God it never answered.
Sumptuous silence,
 

watching you tear yourself to shreds 
beneath those ever-arriving, ever-diminishing slithers.
Turning to it still, like a sunflower trapped
in a sunless nightmare, not because you want to, 
but because you have to.
At night, you too can be reduced
to the child you once were, motherless,
building tiny cities with tiny plastic pieces
that, with a snap, would come apart.
 

Your own little planet. Fostered with a smile.
Room tidied. Tides changing. You knew nothing
of waning light.