Epistle To the Moon, Who's Heard It All

What can I say to you,

oh luminescent marble,

that hasn't been said before?

.

Since the dawn of time,

people has sworn their love for you—

they sang odes about your mystic splendor,

wrote hymns to your pallid beauty.

.

What can I call you, then

oh, Celestial Pearl?

.

Yours is the light

by which my spirit’s born,*

You live in the lining of my skin.**

.

All worn-out, borrowed words,

repeated confessions

I never spoke aloud, yet

you've listened a myriad of times.

.

So what can I,

daughter of Selene,

your humble servant, say

that my crystal concubine***

hasn't got tired of yet?

.

You play hide-and-seek with the stars;

I am but a grain of dust—

ephemeral, imperceptible and trivial.

.

What could make you turn

your capricious face to me?

.

My hands are empty.

The words slip through my fingers.

.

You bear all my secrets,

you know every corner of my heart;

I have nothing to offer

that you haven't already received

from Shakespeare—or Cleopatra.

*Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born —e.e. Cummings

**The moon lives in the lining of your skin— Pablo Neruda

***crystal concubine — Mina Loy, Lunar Baedeker