[155] Seen or Not

I lay by night and wonder how

the moon became such a sight

why it sits sometimes bright

sometimes full, sometimes sliced

sometimes glowing yellow in the dark

big and present making its mark

or small and sliced with barely a bark

it dangles above and draws us near

or sits alone without fanfare

never was it not a moon

never was it without a tune.

It plays its part like a womb

and appears like clockwork,

seen or not, for me and you

and the songbirds too.

It owns its part,

loud or soft,

but never was it,

was it not.