mutton birds.

In the beginning the moon was attached to the land. We made promises to the moon and stole glances with the sun. The moon grew jealous. The moon wanted to be a star. He went to singing lessons and deportment classes and didn't spend enough time with the earth. We said we were busy anyway. We withdrew. He didn't feel seen, or loved or needed. He said he needed space. He escaped. And lived to echo the sun. We betrayed the moon. We let him fall. Then we built walls around our cities, our hearts, we started eating each other, we waited for civilisation to come bounding through and destroy everything. He sent postcards “Wish you were here, the view of 'whatever exotic place' is breathtaking" ergo I can't breathe with out you. "I wave to you from time to time." as if we didn't notice the moon in full swing every month, probably with a smug expression, though maybe crying, if only we could see that far. We invented telescopes and spied on the one we still loved. We tied all the balloons in all the world together and started to fly. Let's wake at sunrise, born from our history, heartbreak, the memory of indifference. Let's rise in to the blue, defy the sun, chase, capture, hold. Bring him back to our chests complaining of tired arms and meaning 'I'm sorry.'