in the image dimly traced
but surely caught
there I sat and watched the moon
the face of our most distal thought
as it donned the mask of a sleeping sun
and cast light much in a bluer way

still full

but eluding its exuberance
and evading all capture
there is nothing burned or sintered here

only a moment

and there is no sense in plucking it out
nor harm in trying, either