Moon

Through a badly-drawn curtain
via the mirrored wardrobe
the Moon sought me as I slept,
a gibbous ghost pursuing me
as my head inched, perturbed,
along my ghostly pillow
until I met my wife--
dead to the world--and woke,
an escapee caught in a searchlight
of immense power so close
I could see it move,
80 billion tons of rock at speed,
sunlit in my night.