DAVID KRAFT

Our bodies are not celestial

the moon exploded and it took a week

for me to notice, it started as an itch when I stepped out

onto the disappearing line of dark sand along the sea

beside the highway, not seizing me fully until

the water, impossibly as glass, reflected a sky ablaze

with stars piercing the veil of Earth without competition.

I bid a hasty farewell to monthly mood swings and

the sea of tranquility, and looked down into the glass

at a face far less iconic and significant, formed over only

a handful of decades against of backdrop of shining true ancients

growing stronger after a billion years. Even so,

I still piss in the sand and try to spell my name

David Kraft is a poet in Minneapolis, MN, who thus far has failed to learn how to breathe underwater.