CD3 Gets Closer

Last week, scientists found a new moon:
a second one, peculiar and small.

The poets will be excited. Maybe now
they can write about the moon without consequence

since it will be new, and free of tropes.
Perhaps they will hang on it like honey.

There’s a part of me that thinks if we can get a new moon
then maybe anything could happen. Like maybe I could hand you

a spoonful of the moonlet, and you could pour it down my chin.
Maybe the poets could eat goat cheese by the river, and listen

to Kate Bush on repeat. We could design a little ocean,
just the two of us, pulling tides up along contiguous shores.

They say the new moon could’ve been there for years.
And what would we have done—

written twice as many poems? Held an eggshell, a spoon,
in our hands, like a lover returning? Listened to Kate Bush?

I do those things anyway. I’d like to do them with you,
with our small impermanent moon.