Funeral For the Moon

A patch of sunlight defines the moment.
A toddler walks into a busy street
because his mother looks away.

Somewhere else, under tougher stars
a knee touched ground witnesses
a man's proposal, while she

has thoughts of another.

Around it goes, this thread of chance
about the reefs of shipwrecked islands
down the avenue of third world streets
past the crash sites of Firestone Escalades
and private planes, all under a moon,
that is dead, remember?
Of which we have yet to have her funeral.

'Til then she vexes us with ill luck.
Haunting us until she gets a proper burial.

This evening by her pale light she waits,
like very night,
for her eulogy
to begin.