I look up to the sky and see two moons.
One is completely full
the whole disc illuminated
tossed its orange glow into the lake.
The other moon is green,
a sliver that bends into the stars beneath.
A leafy sky pulls at our ankles
and we lift.
It's 62 miles to space.
Two to where I am at the lake.
But this one has a current
and we drift.
My eyes feel like ice this time,
but our hands are warm
with all the extra moonlight,
hot air into tightly clenched fists.
The snow falls politely,
almost in sin.
The only reason we know
is because of our prints.
We head down the ridge
towards a sea, or so they say.
Later he tells me it was my choice
which is expected, or so they say.
I don't necessarily agree
but with two moons in the sky
so much can shift up here;
we'd let our hearts do the talking.
Come down, only so we see everything:
peaks pile on top of our palms
we give in, or up, into compressed air
like ice in wet water
and we lift.