The sun is going to sleep, tired from a long day of letting its light fall
Onto countless leaves and sidewalks and upturned faces,
While the moon wakes up, yawns, stretches,

Rubs sleep from her eyes and prepares to take her turn
illuminating a tossing and turning planet.
It is 12:43 a.m. and you are halfway around the world

Still carrying the blankets from your bed,
Texting me at airport gates in between plane rides.
I wonder if the sun ever sends text messages to the moon

Just to let her know she reached the horizon safely.
My thoughts are daylight savings time
and tonight is going to last for a week

so I am lying in the shadows of my bed trying
to preserve as much sunlight as possible;
To memorize the smell of your hair

And the way your fingers
weave through mine like wicker in a basket.
I pull myself closer to clouds, curve my body into a crescent,

Wake up twenty minutes later clutching at the empty space next to my chest.
I wonder if the sun leaves little gifts sprinkled across the firmament
So the moon can spend her sleepless nights

Gathering them up like breadcrumbs
(I can see so many stars from my bedroom window right now
And I hope you too are gazing up at the sky).

Each of those myriad spots of light are perhaps the celestial equivalent of
A half-drunk iced coffee,
A snowman sticker on the corner of a calculus textbook,

A woven bracelet to remind the moon of the way the sun’s hands
Paint pictures in the air when they are not too busy tapping out a melody.
I am going to sleep

And you are waking up.
I wonder if the sun and the moon wish eclipses happened more often
So that just for a little while

They could share the heavens
Instead of playing hide-and-seek in the cosmos
Spelling out G-O-O-D-N-I-G-H-T and G-O-O-D-M-O-R-N-I-N-G with handfuls of stars.