Gaping chasm above,
you mere window to the stars,
to the Moon hanging
upon that tapestry of ghosts,
you shine bright your cold rays
onto a child, sleepless and restless,
horizontally 2:00am.
They have arm lifted, finger
reaches, attempting to prod
and poke
each twinkling dot on high,
designing lines twixt
bodies that spend aeons oblivious.
Moonlight coats his face and hair,
a moment that lasts ever too
fast, but awaited for weeks
by a child who finally can
feel comfort.