The hour overripe, promising sweetness / that stings the tongue, / God split the moon in two. / Miraculous how cleanly / these cleaved halves / dimpled disbelief. / And what was there to prove? / What window was shuttered? What violence / had I not suffered? / Once sundered, we cannot mend it. / I am half-lit. Half-witted. / Don’t say I didn’t warn you. / Hand me a knife: I’ll slice / and you choose the bigger or the brighter. / Love, let’s split the moon.