Far Side of the Moon

If we lived on the far side of the moon,

we would plant magnolias in the stony soil,

their pink blooms, exploding, iridescent.

Even the moonlight would be fragrant.

There, amidst a galaxy of stars, our faces, incandescent,

I might turn to you and whisper words I’ve carried in my bones.

They would taste like purple berries, sweet as jam,

falling into your open mouth.

There is so much waiting in a long life,

but here we are, stunned by the currents of the world,

moving great bodies of water beneath us.

From this vantage point, the air is pure,

leaving a shimmering trail of light before us.