The moon pulls the tides
Helping to churn the oceans
Bringing from the deep to the surface
And to land where it can be found
With ease
What has lain beneath
The motion causes that on the surface to drift
Aimlessly
Unless it catches winds
Or finds its own power
Somehow
I am flotsam on the waves
As the moon moves through its cycle
Fullness dying away and growing whole
And brilliant
Again
Baring how it has been marred
For all to see who can look upon it
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