Moons

There are so many versions of the moon,
and you might get to see a strange northern hemisphere one from a village in the Spanish mountains,
one from the cool night sand at Tauranga Bay,
one rising and staring at you like a dumb baby in the eggshell Orewa sky.
So many kinder and more vicious moons won’t be seen.
Maybe just in a movie,
bright over the hills outside the barbwire fences of a mental institution,
in the eyes of any leading actress you can name.
These sad, substitute moons are nothing next to the real, bland thing.
Knowing this hurts most at night, predictably.