around the world, a common sight shared –
the last quarter Moon and nearby Virgo’s
bright first-magnitude star, Spica – half-illuminated in sunlight,
half in moonshadow, lit side always pointing
eastward, looking, as we do, for sunrise.
I play Satie softly not to awaken
her upstairs. I’m not much of a
musician, more a phonometrician, measuring and writing
down sounds as the Moon approaches fullness,
far from Paris, breathing in 3/4 time.
She says “I follow a lunar month.
You follow a solar month. Too bad.”
Out of sync. Orbiting around each other.
Your waxing, waning and my rising, setting.
Throwing you in shadow today. New Moon.