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Far from lifeless, the moon plays host
to a pageant of shadows and light
cavorting over landscapes
with each pirouette.  Never
blending, each razor edge
sharper than the one before,
dancing lunatic kinetics live brief lives,
a monochrome kaleidoscope
of binary art.

There is romance there as well,
not the kind collected from
generations of love-struck youth
or geriatric companions, the
reflected warmth of
millions of upturned faces,
the romance that lives on the moon is
between satellite and gravity well,
an eternal gavotte of cosmic cadence.

There is horror to be found
on our nearest galactic neighbor
if you look for it,
in the knowledge than mankind has arrived,
left footprints in the sand,
and made plans to return.
Eons of peaceful, clean solitude
have come to a grisly end.