I wonder if it’s difficult for the sun to rise every morning, if he has a routine of coffee or a snooze button he allows himself to press only three times. I wonder if he knows how even though there is challenge in change, the sky is so beautiful. And I wonder if he’s still lovers with the moon, or do we only have the night because they grew apart. Is it awkward for him to see her in the sky sometimes before he’s settled for the night? Does he choose the colours he paints the sky with every night?
I wonder if he’s sleeping angry when he set’s bright red.
I wonder if he misses her when he wakes up tangerine.
I worry for the moon, carrying around the weight of the tides. I wonder how she got tied down and if she’s just strong or determined. I worry for all the blame we put on her for our grievances when she’s full, if she’s ever confessed to such mischief or simply never denied the accusations. I wonder if she is vying for the sun’s affections with every wax and wane, trying to please his appetite.
I worry the stars are too far away to be friends.
I worry she can’t see her reflection in the ocean.