Those You Love, You Lose—if They Don’t Lose You First—but You’re Always Stuck with the Moon

Oh, there’s the moon.
You lift your nose
From a volume
Of poems on loss

Left in a thrift
Store in Nelson
Or maybe it
Was New Denver,

Book that you’ve browsed
Since your return.
You watch the moon—
Is it rising

Or setting? Does
Either matter?
For that matter
Does anything?