Poem by Nils Peterson:
It is the moon. We’ve seen her make her way over the sea, the admiring tide trailing behind. When she steps ashore, tide slides back with a sigh.
And as she rounds the planet, a little wave follows, a rising of topsoil, a ripple of grass, even a nod of mountain rock.
Truth is, when she passes over your head, she tugs at your hair, your scalp, toes even. and you know she’s there even if your eyes are closed...