For a Child of the Moon

I do not know the cadence of your speech,

its timbre, or the things it has to say,

but, if you shout, perhaps the words will reach

above the din and past the earthly fray.

I think that I might hear you, out in space,

out far beyond the clouds, where breath is rare,

before we disappear, without a trace,

in telescopes turned opposite to stare.

I hear they plan to send a man to Mars.

I’ll race him there. I’m halfway to the moon.

Come meet me past the sun and ‘twixt the stars.

My trip is lightyears, but I’ll get there soon.

You say you are a child of the moon;

come out a little farther, and I’ll swoon.