Chasing the moon is like chasing fireflies.
Cattails. Little nuggets of gold
lost in the mountain streams,
pieces of fairy gold strung in the branches
at the onset of autumn.

Chasing the moon is like remembering dreams.
Bits of a love song heard through loud weather,
glimpses of heaven between cumulus clouds
and unfinished symphonies.
Holding the snow.

The moon is always one step beyond us.
And that's just the way we like it.