# 3 (what is the moon? nobody knows.)

what is the moon?
no one really knows.

maybe it’s soft white felt
on dry, itchy wool

or a breath of light
the night sky takes

swelling with whiteness,
and then exhaled.

is it the night’s drain
the starlight circles.

the accretion of the glow
given off like pollen
from each humming streetlight.

maybe it’s an eye-hole
cut in the fabric of the night.

it could be a pearl, I suppose
flawed and dusty.

what is the moon?
no one really knows.