Sweat is a kind of currency, sleep is another
In our dreams, we are free
to scour the moon for its treasures
In our lives, we are gamblers.
Each breath a flip of a coin,
Each word a red-white chip that falls on the table
The debt sags in our pockets:
A rejection,
Dark eye circles,
A friend lost at sea.
We touch the moon only to watch it ripple and shatter
Between our fingers;
The water is cold.

But the payoff is higher than the cliffs
When the moon is under your fingertips
And dreams swell under your feet
To carry you into the beyond--
You dream, but the joy is real.
Each breath a shaved die,
Each word a royal flush.
It is the luck of the draw:
A medallion,
Unwasted sweat,
The prize of the century.
We touch the moon only to look closer at the sun
You kiss my fingers;
Space is cold.