I was the moon.
A shadow hid me
and I knew what it meant
not to be at all.
The moon in eclipse is sad
and sinless.
There is no passion in her plight.
Cold, unlighted,
moving in a trance,
she comes to her station
or passes again to her place;
uncovers her loneliness:
eyeless behind no eyelids
has neither sleeping nor waking,
no body, parts, nor passions,
no loving, perceiving,
having, nor being;
moves only in a wayless night;
and drifting, as a ship without direction,
sinks to a forgotten depth,
among weeds,
among stones.