Poetry

Night Gazing

by

Simon Titchener

The moon’s been out late tonight,
I can make out where it has not shaved.
Yet you are more distant somehow,
though perhaps looking at the same moon.
Past all that sand.
I imagine you smiling,
walking, picking up shells.
I wonder where your thoughts are,
whether I am in them.
You were only a few streets away,
now you are many moons.