Under a sharp polar moon 

I lose the life 

I never had.

It’s pared painfully from me, 

layer by layer, as mother-of-pearl clouds

drift shimmering above.

— A great year for astronomical

events! —

But of course your car breaks down,

says the laughing monk.

You’ll also: lose your job, end up 

alone in a nursing home.

— You’ll slip. —

What were you expecting? 

It’s winter. The ice is not 

the problem.

He shrugs then

chuckles. 

— Sorry —