Fifty Minutes

Each day the Moon rises and sets on our lives, such as they are
And the next day, fifty minutes later, the Moon slowly rises again
And our lives make and emit light that travels for a second and a half
Until it strikes a hard alien mountain and returns to us, broken and slower

Some do not sweep their light from this or any moon; they
Leave it on the floor where it fell and walk around it
Maybe to remind them of failure or of exultation of a small thing
Or a large thing that the Moon does not see, knowing that

The Moon does not keep us for fifty minutes at night
And we have that time to ourselves and we have that time to
Set or upend monuments, or our lives, such as they are


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