Xíng Xíng Chóng Xíng Xíng

This belt is getting looser
Clothes float from these crooked bones

This is a fortunate thing
To shrink into an unknown

From the moon the moon never
Sees itself empty or full

The moon remains contented
And unaware of its pull

And doesn’t know it’s been blessed
With a small menagerie

Of goddesses and rabbits
For its cratered history

The moon is getting smaller
Further and further from Earth

Or maybe Earth is leaving
And shrinking for all it’s worth