Today I am like the moon, open,
even if she stays still.
Open and round like the lid
of a cheese dish.
I have good reasons to
think that I am like the moon
when the streetlight gets tangled, and only
half of me is lit, when
my white head shines brighter
at night than during the day,
when, if I look down at the puddle,
what reflects is the clear,
clear, white, and round moon.
Because today I am
like the open moon.
Just the same, exactly like her.