a lack without a name
an unfulfillment
yet no ascribed blame
what can the earth
say about the moon
its own void its contentment
perhaps its too soon
but days melt to months
they form many years many tears
a full moon comes once in a month
yet it's blocked by black fears
a fatal continuity its existence
the earth doesn't rise, yet it sets
it grieves its disowned essence 
and loses more than it begets