November Moon

She throbs  
as fireworks sailed beneath her,  
cascades of colour, billowing from plastic,  
pale in comparison to her light.  
Plastic that didn't offend me
before you were born.  
 
She controls the tides,  
rolls of careless water, swallowing  
more and more waste,  
and she declares longer days,  
shorter time with her.  
Time that didn't seem as important  
before it felt like it may end before my eyes.  
 
She knows all my secrets,  
send them off there when too weary to carry,  
sing songs from shingled beaches to the beaches of my stone core
where washed up moments live preserved.  
It never mattered to admire her every evening  
until I realised she, other than the Earth and Sun, is the only thing still with me from my birth.