She has become afraid of moonlight,
indignant at molecules
that have the audacity
to bounce off atmospheres and refract light
like show-offs
instead of being satisfied by dullness.
She believes the television without question:
Our sun will one day expire.
Ever since she regards
the firmament as being
in a conspiracy against her –
to keep her soul unsettled.
In such moments, all I can do is hold her
because I cannot help but feel the same way.