The moon steals light from the sun and offers it fragile flaking in weathered white hands. She makes it her own, takes the luminous threads and twists them around the barren precipices of her own weighted gravity. In some ways, we are all stealing light, each ray tumbling through filters of thought and memory to reflect upon the mirrors of our lives. I pluck my morphing words from her downcast eyes today, transmute them through my pale skin and send them off to wend a new future.

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