letter from the moon

I spent three years of my life staring into the sun.
do you know what kind of damage that does to someone?
friends would take turns convincing me
to look away
but when I did --
afterimages
of light danced on the walls.

we built a home in them;
we played pretend, made shadows
of a life with our hands, lied
for days in the sun's mark.
we knew we could not live there.
the house soon grew
dark, silent, slowly. when nothing more could be seen,

I spilt the spirit from my own
split throat.

I thanked the sun for its gift:

blindness.