Selene

Moon over South Yorkshire, June 2018

Selene

Selene drifts across
the darkening sky,
calling on them.
Pulling.
She pulls at the shining sea -
dragging.
Tides, they call them, dear Selene.
Her face shines, shape-shifting,
waxing,
waning.
For eons she called
but no-one came.
Sweet, barren Selene.
Then one day, a tiny speck,
flickering in the light of Helios,
shining.
She sighs as it arrives,
circling.
She prepares for contact,
her bombarded face
expecting.
This is not the time.
But it went as soon as it came
and so did others, closer, finally
touching.
Silvery, they crawl on her,
silent as their covered faces.
My sister, they do not hear you. 
They come and go,
they leave their detritus,
littering.
They are not your children.
Will they ever stay?
She so yearns to be
breathing.
There can be no tears.
She will wait, patiently, endlessly
pulling,
calling,
pulling
calling.....

Tim Fellows 2019