Celestial Copy

I wake to find
a silver bar of moon
has slipped between the curtains
to scan me,
travelling the length of my body
from one slow side to the other,
remembering me,
preparing to send
my silvered likeness
by celestial copy machine.

I lie still
so as not to blur,
note the seas and lakes
on my curves,
dips and hollows
that were made for this,
born to be dressed in moon,
I find
I long to fly.