When the Moon was Ours

They feared that if they were not kind to the beautiful things that grew wild, their own farms would wither and die.

I wish for you every light in the sky.

All these broken pieces, becoming a hundred thousand unmapped stars.

Because she saw him as something different than anyone else did too.

Miel was a handful of foil stars, but they were the fire that made constellations.

When he traced her skin, the thought of everything he told her about the moon skimmed across her, about the lunar seas and bays. Mare nubium and mare undarum, the sea of clouds and the sea of waves. Lacus autumni and sinus iridum, the lake of autumn and the bay of rainbows. The features he painted with brushes and with his bare fingers.

Maybe I didn’t even know I was here ’til I saw you holding me.

—Andrea Gibson