The moon was neither
voiced into creation
nor was it defined.
It was just parted
from the dark ink
of God’s voice.
Alphabets don’t
exist on dark vellum
just illuminated papyrus.
God doesn’t have the power
to banish those things
that have always existed.
He can’t create the perfect night
just pull crows out of it,
really, the simplest of magic tricks.
The small orifice below the cheekbones
exists to project the whiteboard
scribblings of the human mind.
Man is sad because he knows
that his words and thoughts
fall short of God’s magnificent language.
The moon witnesses what
is below and above its light
and keeps both their secrets.
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