The Edge of the Moon


I could stand on the edge of the moon, watching comets,

Black holes, entire galaxies,

Their rings, with colors that make the Grand Canyon,

At dawn on a glorious spring day,

Seem like washed out pastels.


Watching universes dance,

I could stand,

Watching life, being born.


I could stand at the corner of a bar

Listening to songwriters

Define their life in phrases, with angles;

Painting pictures of dreams

I could call my own.


The corner of a bar,

The far edges of Galaxies

Waiting to be found.


Watching life

Is not living it.


The verb of the breath, breathed,

Is more than simply watching it turn to mist

In the cool of dawn.


The dream of love, lived,

of hearts,

of dreams known, and realized,

Is more than watching galaxies being born

In starbursts,

Across a summer sky.


The dream of life

Is living it.

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