Slippery

Rocky shine ball leaning
quickly in the sky,
the space too far
for me to smell which
way how far she goes.

Latticed surface spilt
with holes and ridges,
even the binoculars
I hold will tell
of your old hidden faces.

Next week something
new and less of you,
where the curtain
behind is no longer
blind, but free
to show the shiny
spots.

All looking up, catch
your drift and guess
what part of town
you will visit next.
You slippery moon.

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