You were born, and the moon rose in the dark sky.
We are all breeding under the same stars,
No one knows what will happen,
Who will be born, who will die,
Who will be wounded next. Things happen.
Some wounds you can't live with, but
Some wounds you just can't live without.
You need them. Something in the suffering is called for.
And coincidence counts for so very much, my friend,
Coincidence and free will.
The moon rose and wrote your name
Across the broken sentence of the night sky.
And then, just as quickly, it was tomorrow.