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The moon is a pale radio
Her volume down too low
Her pull a room of whispers
Unspoken and unknown

Despite her ragged edges
And waxing, unconstant form
She murmurs to me gently
To watch as she’s reborn

There’s something so magnetic 
That we search through velvet blues of night
Eyes resting on her pale face
But never her dark side, out of sight

I wonder if she watches us 
Like ants, far below 
If she keeps pages, day by day
Of what it is she knows

We’ve found tears of silver in her spotlight
And faces in her skin
We’ve sent rockets up to meet her
To quench our thirst to win

But as the tides ebb and flow
She’ll still be hanging there
We will be long gone 
I wonder if she cares