The moon-worshipper woke up
glass doors flung open
sunshine averted
something had happened
something steep and wide
and blind, exuberantly blind
like babies chirping at trees
or swords barking at fish

Something was exposed
like pimples protruding the skin
lies that gained weight
and bowed down to the earth

Something quiet and bright
like wild men looking up
biting their tongues
and a notepad full of nightmares
written to be forgotten

A moon-worshipper woke up
blind, shy and quiet
closed the windows and drowned
in oxygen-less bubbles

Something so pronounced:
“What is the fate of
a moon-worshipper in space?”
Traveling on a page
a letter
a comma
a dot
and they pressed erase.

January, 2012 London