I watch the moon grow over the horizon
a view through this window lined with dust
that always remains just out of reach
when I attempt its elimination with an ugly old rag.

There are no stars tonight. Tuesdays
in December are unworthy of their glow.
Just the moon, the darkness, and me, chilled to the core.
I can feel the wind through my wall,
and pull a white knit blanket up to my chin.

I'm growing tired of watching the sky.
The ultimate rerun, its beauty manages to
hypnotize me every time. A childhood superstition
of wishing stars and never-lands keep me
hostage in a wish-I-may state of mind.

I turn my head and close my eyes.
Secretly plotting against my stubborn dust,
I slowly drift into dream.