The moon is an orange slice, as far from metaphor as possible, low over the dark, dark water (that never stops shushing and washing over the rocks which have been here since almost the beginning).
If you were here I’d make you look, stand out in the cold that isn’t inhospitable, looking and listening, finally noticing that above that dark slash of cloud that is swallowing up the orange slice in some slow motion sleight of hand, above that are stars, bright and clear and comforting.
The moon says, There has never been a time like this before, not even for a moment.
The stars say, Every moment has been exactly like this one, forever and ever, because every lifetime is the same, over and over again.
And I say, Isn’t it beautiful exactly here and exactly now?
The moon slides up and vanishes. A costume change, I’m sure, and she’ll be back.