Moon Writing at the Next Table (2)

(from the moon series)

It's rare to see a moon writing these days, especially a moon
writing in public. And I'm writing in public also. And we're waiting
for the processions. I wonder

if the moon writes about companionship. About romantic weekends
in Paris under the stars. Can't you see the moon at the top of the Eiffel tower
peering over the ancient city? Or perhaps taking a coffee

in a tourist café near the Arc de Triumph? What a lazy tourist moon.
Or falling for some handsome Frenchman whispering lovely words
on a flowery spring night? I wonder if the moon feels lonely.

What a lonely moon. Writers are attracted like magnets
in public. I wonder what language the moon speaks.
Probably some combination of high German and Spanish. Ah,

but there's the moon's daughter, a young one with a toy
in hand. And she puts her pen down. And she closes her moleskin.
And I put my pen down in the mirror and sip Mahou.

The moon's lips move and the words come easily to my head.