To the Same Moon We Both Can See

If you still hang over both our rooftops,

then distance is only a story we tell ourselves.

She’s under you somewhere,

brushing her hair,

closing the window,

and you’re spilling the same light through her curtains

that you pour through mine.

***

I keep thinking light must remember

where it’s already been.

That maybe it carries her breath,

or the sound of her kettle,

and drops it here,

soft as a fingerprint on glass.

***

If she ever looks up,

let her see you keeping vigil,

as if you’d been guarding something for me.

Tell her I’m fine —

that I still hum when it rains,

that the cat still waits by the door.

***

And if she smiles, even for a second,

shine just a little brighter,

so I’ll know.