You brush your hair in the silver mirror,
A barren field, like the moon
Clambering amid the gestures of bare branches.
Once your hair was like the sun.

Still you are light,
Resembling a shadow’s, cloud’s, wind’s, a bright mist
And you set-off where I no longer see you.
Still you are light, like a shrinking trail.

You do not need to tell me
The place that is taking you away from here.
When the moon becomes the sun,
I know because you become the moon.

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