Good Morning, Moon

Tomato and indigo lie intertwined in celestial embrace,
while early riser sits upright and claws back the lace.

 

To praise the day returning, an unseen bird sings,

Lūna hangs in perfect balance without the need for strings.

 

The clouds are maroon vapour, and camouflage as dust,
denying her existence on this sheet of iron rust.

 

The speed of spinning rock allows the dust to pass,
the giant’s balloon filling up a magnifying glass.

 

The lightbulb and its halo illuminate the skies,
regarded by my unguarded eyes.