every sunday we wake up,
say good day to the half-visible
crescent moon,
arrange our hair via combing,
dress like it were our own funeral,
and drive to church.

it never fails, except
three weeks after my birthday,
we did it four days in a row!
once, when it was still dark, the
windows invited me to fly through,
and the candles looked a lot like
the sky. i just had to touch
that crescent moon before it faded.

*unfinished verse