Waning Moon

A tornado texts my phone,
not knowing where to go
or what to do anymore,
if anything at all.

The tides rush in,
a lunar crash landing
on my doorstep.

We curl up in a crater
until it’s time
for her to ascend again
and walk her 
solemn procession
across the sky.

And all you can do
is helplessly take the text
that she’s going to get some rest,
and the universe
becomes a blank vacuum
holding its breath,
awaiting her return.  

And none of this 
will mean anything
when she returns,
and you can’t help knowing
that means something,
but you just hold her
and put that thought
somewhere for later,
another new moon night.  

-GD Butler

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