I have always wanted to be nocturnal,

To Live by the light of the moon.

There’s something about the stars – they’re eternal.

I pray the sun sets soon.

I’m a spinning, winning, tripping, zipping, super-sonic ice queen:

See my moon zoom, clock my rocket, watch me splutter tricksy space-steam.

Now we're up on the edge

and over, on the mountain

with mountains beyond. Behind us,

            in the dark

of the valley, villages are embers

I’m looking up into the sky

And I am thinking, how can it be this big?

Why is there so much of it?

How do we all fit?

I am thinking all these things

Now the day is over,
you're lying in your bed
and cares are spinning endlessly
around your weary head.
Remember that the moon you see
is also shining down on me.

Moon is

silver silver.

Moon is

clipped cup

from which to sip

a first drop

of freshly-pressed

moon juice.

Moon is

There is a place (believe me,

            she said) where if, if

                          you go beyond

the street lights, to the lane's end,

In need of some repair,

six point seven billion

careless owners.

Lovely views of the galaxy,

possible renovation project.

Owners seek exchange

Twinkle, twinkle, little star

Scientists tell us what you are.

Hydrogen...and helium?

Oxygen and nitrogen...

Twinkle, twinkle, little star

The moon was married last night
and nobody saw,
dressed up in her ghostly dress
for the summer ball.