Moon Play

The moon slipped into his room a 
suitcase of light seeking commiseration,

The boy imagined three stars stolen 
from the Northern Sky packed inside.

The beam stopped by the bookcase,
thumbed its light on a few titles,

and since the books would not 
open and confess their words

drifted its attention to the unexpected 
life awakening on the other side—

a green fish  bowl with a sleeping turtle, and
rainbows of beads glistening in its admiring glaze,

a prism refracting atop the bureau with 
pirate chest drawers and  gun port handles.

The boy waited, watched for an age, as the 
beam shifted to a flower sketch nearby,

then glided down to the pinewood floor,
moving to the waiting boy’s face.

“I’d had enough new friend,” he said,
“Time to greet the new sun rising

and kiss my mother, go to school.  
I will play with you again, later tonight.”

The moonbeam picked up its suitcase 
and went to its bed in the daylight sky.