I have looked,

Glanced,

Gazed,

So many times.

But nothing is any different.

We are still the same,

But the sky is bluer than ever,

And at night when the bubbles in my head pop,

I will reach through the fog of my dream,

And grasp the marble-like moon between my fingers and fracture it.

Then the sun will rise as if I never broke anything.

I will still look,

I will still glance,

Gaze,

But now the dented moon will have the imprint of my thumb on its body.