regard the moon...

regard the moon, 

la lune ne garde aucune rancune, 

she winks a feeble eye, 

she smiles into corners. 

she smooths the hair of the grass. 

the moon has lost her memory. 

a washed-out smallpox cracks her face, 

her hand twists a paper rose, 

that smells of dust and eau de Cologne, 

she is alone 

with all the old nocturnal smells 

that cross and cross across her brain"

t.s. eliot, from rhapsody on a windy night

source: sarah moon, via callie grayson