Scientists have recently released a report suggesting that the Earth may once have had two moons: the one we see in the skies tonight, and a smaller one which catastrophically slammed into its larger cousin. What was left was a single amalgam, with the remaining moon flattened on one side by the cataclysmic impact.
Of course, no one—not even your Great-Grandfather—can remember that far back; so we’re left to speculate what power, what primal urge, may have brought them together.
I have my own idea what happened, what romance drew the two together.
* * * * *
“Come hither!” said the Man in the Moon,
Flexing his biceps, arching his brow
As Helios the sun god skimmed first his forehead, then his cheek, with a smouldering kiss.
“No, I won’t!” cried his diminutive cousin,
Skimming past with purpose and predictability.
And on he danced, stifling the urge for union.
Millenia passed, but still the siren call
Grew stronger, bolder,
Until the smaller moon, called “Chandra” by those who knew her best, burrowed her gravelly nose
Into her cousin’s dove-grey cheek—
Pressing hard, pushing deep, flattening mountains
In a powdery burst of rock and mineral,
The two became one.
And so they remained:
Forever in tandem they call the tides,
And combined, their reflective glow warms the winter skies
Until He comes again in glory.