It’s the same moon, but a different world.
When we were only little boys at night
we looked at this half moon glowing as bright
outshining all the stars. Now lights unfurled
by passing cars shine brighter and I can
count six planes in the sky without trying
blinking like fireflies in the cold dwindling
irrelevant as distant toys. A span
of time has wrinkled and changed our faces
yet what has changed? Friend, here we are at last
returning with the moon to hug steadfast
like the mountain stream gone many places
never really strays or ever parted
having always flowed from where it started.
