Little Match Box

　　 by Tess Gallagher

　　 And if there were two moons，

　　 who would sleep when one

　　 passed before the other

　　 and took it in

　　 on its dark side？ Wouldn't

　　 some extra light ray out

　　 around the sustaining one？

　　 Wouldn't you sense

　　 the two in one， even if you'd

　　 never seen them parted？

　　 Sometimes a glory

　　 is just that-a guessing-into

　　 the seen， noticing

　　 the fringe of presence

　　 when it comes， trying to match

　　 its fervency by something

　　 as tangible， something

　　 only you are equal to.