Moon girl,
matron saint of paper days, 
life just as wide as a fingernail of light,
when you glowingly swear that
you’ll begin things new, girl.

Moon girl,
heady, and blushing,
a broken promise blue girl,
in an over-heels fall to the
tip-tap at rock bottom, as the
great glass round slips down the sky.

Moon girl fears. Moon girl hopes. Moon girl grows, and floats.
Shall you wane and
wax? Whine and wail?

If you live in the life in which you lie, the lie becomes a lovelorn life.

You have not felt
since the onset daze,
earned hours of day
in a drifting, soft haze.



By Emma Sibbald