scarves for planets _______________________ the moon knits scarves for cold planets. i. she doesn’t ask why they’re cold. doesn’t pry into their silences or mourn what they’ve lost. she just begins—thread soft as dusk, spun from old starlight. the scarves don’t fix the cold; they’re not meant to. they’re comfort, not cure. quiet warmth wrapped around drifting orbits, a promise that someone sees them, still. some tilt closer. others stay distant. she keeps knitting either way. ii. a child watches the sky and sees a silver thread slip across it, slower than any star should fall. they press a hand to the window. “she’s tucking them in,” he whispers. that night, he dreams of the moon’s hands, gentle and full of light, wrapping ribbons around the dark. when he wakes, the room feels softer somehow. he doesn’t know why. only that it feels a little like being held.
