The moon has made many shapes

since you touched me last

I see it and I question becomings

of parted lovers past

That looked upon the same stone of insanity

and felt the same ache

that plagues my heart, tortures my senses

and makes my bitterness bake

into a stone I carry in me

it is my parcel I must lose

It is heavy, black and poisons me

and hasn’t a practical use

The light of the moon casts silver upon me

and makes my spirit tame

I think you look at it too

and hope that it’s the same

shape to you as it is to me

do we not look at the same mass

Of stone studded into heaven’s garb

hoping the shapes will pass

swiftly and painlessly seven times

while your too far from my sight

look at Artemis’ orb

may I be in your thoughts tonight?

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