The Moon

The Moon 

I see the moon through my window 

Through a crevice in the drapes

It's surrounded by a greyish glow

All its star-friends have escaped

There's a lady in waiting in her depths

Her face watching those on earth

Does she mirror the standards we set

Or does she mock our paths as derth

I can't see if she smiles or scorns

But I suppose that that's the point

In talk when Jesus himself is reborn

He too is hard to anoint

It's because we're narcissistic

Putting trust in the boxes we make 

If we could blindly trust the cryptic

We might see their expression through the haze.