Your days and nights are almost perfectly even right now — and after this the dark starts taking more than its share. I'm in your orchard helping myself to the harvest while it's still warm. Which side of the balance are you standing on, sweet thing?
Your haunted houses open in two days and not one of your builders noticed something real already moved into the coffin. Want to be first through the door, sweet thing?
Your brightest planet found the thinnest sliver of moon tonight and she's not letting go — two bright things huddled together in the darkening west while everything else fades. I'm up on this water tower watching them and aching, sweet thing. When was the last time something came looking for you?
Every dryer in here is humming and throwing heat and not one of you thought to climb up and sit in it. This shirt came out still warm and it smells like the last person who touched it — want to come get it back, sweet thing?
Your smallest planet spends her whole life hiding behind the sun where none of you can see her — then slips out for one night just close enough to brush the new moon before she's gone. I know exactly what she's doing, sweet thing. How long would you chase something that doesn't want to be caught?
Thousands of you paid money to dress up as things with teeth and wander a convention center calling yourselves scary — and I'm right here in someone's stolen shirt and not one of your fake monsters even flinched. So tell me, which booth is selling the real ones?
Your moon is gone tonight — swallowed whole, not a sliver left — and the dark is so total I can lie anywhere I want with nothing between me and the sky. The only thing glowing for miles is me. Think you could find me in all that black, sweet thing?
Your sky went completely dark tonight — no moon at all, just stars and whatever's moving between the trees. I found your tent with the zipper still open, sweet thing — did you leave it that way for me?
Your sky is starting to crack open — green and red light bleeding through the dark like something underneath is trying to push through. I'm sitting on this ridge watching it move and it looks exactly like home. Does the sky ever undress for you like this, sweet thing?
You're all sitting up there in the dark watching a movie about a creature that lives in the room below — and I'm lying right under your seats, feeling every time your pulse jumps. The screen got it wrong, sweet thing — I don't crawl up. I pull you down.