There is no way to reach it from here. She is the moon or the stars I see when I look into the sky, far beyond my ability to touch, when so many others have before me, my landing on the surface in no way the first nor would it be the last if I ever managed to get there, as much as I ache for it to have been otherwise.
I sit at the foot of a tree at night and know I must accept
my place in her universe or abandon even the pretense I matter more than I do,
to reach as far as I might, to go as far as possible, appalled and yet thrilled
by how far she has gone, as I bask in her moon light, learning to accept all
the heavenly bodies she has embraced, accept or perish, breathless for lack of
oxygen as I float in space unable to land, needing to let her be what every she
must be, or for her to do whatever she does, feeling lecherous as she seems to
believe she is, wishing desperately I could find a place to land, watching from
a distance, my mind going where so many have gone before me.
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