The moon has effaced itself into a sliver.
It reminds me of a suture needle
Dangling in the gray matte dusk.
It’s big enough for gorges and gaping
Canyons and unstable tectonic faults.
But the earth just scoffs
Enduring as ever, unfixed.
We have plenty of walking wounded
Who have spent lives spooling thread
Just waiting for a chance to get stitched.