89/365

i went out
to see
if the moon
was still there,
hoping it’d be gone
for the sake of this poem—
the bird nest blew away
the avocado seeds
never sprouted and are rotting
the bougainvillea bloom is waning,

but the moon was still there,
tepid, beige
and uninspired;
lacking its former
gravitas.

who’s to say
what will last
and for what reasons.