Your Grandfather Invented Skiing

My grandfather invented the moon

It curves and curls on the edges

Crescent, it dances off to the left

Do you see that?

Dark and blue like dusking sky

Stars not entirely distinguishable

Like the jeans at the bottom of my pile

creased from years of no wear

We are trapped in a wave

like denim surrounding eyes

the bruise on your left thigh

and I can’t see the opening

It grabs and holds captive

I can’t distinguish my skin

from the water/musty sand

Light is absorbed/imprisoned

This must be how you felt/you feel