A life alone

No one lives with the moon, no one could;

the moon is beautiful, too beautiful;

a sentence to loneliness.

Night after night, wandering, catching glimpses 

  of lovers through half-pulled curtains, it loiters 

to glare on their passions with arctic disdain.

Then scurries onward through the forests of the sky,

to recover its empty heaven,

the solitude that freezes its heart.