on the twenty-eighth

on the twenty-eighth
day, the moon will have
finally made her way around
this new
you, and the sudden
realization will show
on her face,
and the earth will recognize
that suffering look
and all at once
lighter in mass, in this new

as a consequence,
each day
will be quickened
by one point two
six microseconds,
and they will put it
in their history books –
and there will be less time
to say i love you,
less occasion to hold your
hand, less room
to tie the tips
of our dreams together,
less, still less.

but it is only the twentieth
day – the moon doesn’t
know, so the earth
doesn’t know, and the
days, they drag their
feet because you’re not
here, and
we have been living
with it
for twenty days



  1. pearlnelson

    I hate to be repeating myself, but this is another painful, beautiful, and touching poem. It’s almost clinical at times, but then it shifts to such loss. Wonderful. I do hope you are working on a book. Pearl

    • y

      thank you. i think i might compile something. do you have any advice on compiling a book? thank you for your encouragements. also, the clinical is more bearable (smile), for example: i told them all (<– link)

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