the night that the moon exploded

we were laying there,
in the hammock,
in repose,
a soft July night,
as I recall,

when the orbiting orb
started to explode,

and as we watched
the searing fragments
fly out into space,

we were captured
by some momentary grace,

and as life became
fractured,
and the tides,
nonexistent,

all that mattered
was holding you close.



April 2, 2010, for the Wifey.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.