One Isn't Enough For The Moon

There should be

one 
for the moment I saw her 
through a telescope
and cried, 
the ghost of Galileo 
at my shoulder.

two 
for tracing mountains,
pressing fingers to craters,
running my hand 
through her sea.

three 
for the grandmother
wrapped in lace,
hiding scars 
and signs of a full silent life.

four 
for seeing 
she is not a silver dollar,
but opal, sphere
sliding away at the edges, 
darkness in every direction.

five
for grief,
for the side of her 
I’ll never see.