
The thumbnail moon hangs/
midst the mack’rel cloud sky, where/
you and I both see.
You took an object/
immovable, and broke it/
in two. And it grew.
My heart rate rises/
when you appear, and whisper:/
“Let’s get it in gear!”
She wrote when she could./
Her excuse, valid and good./
I should stop crying.
Little green IM/
lights show one thing, thankfully:/
At least you’re alive!