And if there were two moons,
who would sleep when one
passed before the other
and took it in
on its dark side? Wouldn't
some extra light ray out
around the sustaining one?
Wouldn't you sense
the two in one, even if you'd
never seen them parted?

Sometimes a glory
is just that—a guessing-into
the seen, noticing
the fringe of presence
when it comes, trying to match
its fervency by something
as tangible, something
only you are equal to.