A love letter to the moon.

There must be some kind of bedroom specifically filled by the sun--


Or for that matter a kind of non-noctural blooming plum--
A soapy-skin eggplant, and a daylight dead-eyed pea--

There must be a prescription for those beady reading glasses--

What if, keenly being so, as it passes,

The day has--too-- some kind
Of good

And glowing tune?