The young woman fled through city night to reach the ocean.
down at the water she pitched stones at a dull reflection
of the quarter moon.
She’d always wished for two moons:
One full while the other is sliced.
A car-strung highway hissed on the clifftop above,
headlights projecting writhing ghosts into a low bank of clouds.
For every first dance, a last.
For each certainty, something not.
With one final chuck, she broke the moon in two.