Her Beauty Is Best Observed at Midnight

Dear Aurora Celest,

When I peek through the window, you're asleep in the debris.

The flames have subsided, but they will come again.

As the sun begins to rise, it will give light to the matches that have been so carelessly scattered.

But I am a stranger to the sun; I have not witnessed his rage, nor have I felt his touch.

I watch as the rains blow in and dampen the fumes. Blanketing you in ash once again. A phoenix that has not yet learned to fly.

I am not the fuse, nor the strong winds that caused the storm.

I hum in the dark sky. I force the tide to kiss the shoreline, that waits patiently for its return.

Yet, my light is no match for the sun’s prowess, but in his absence, I am felt.

And as you open your eyes, they’ll shine, and a thousand stars are reflected back into mine.

Your beauty is best observed at midnight.

Sincerely, The Moon.