All we catch is fish

All letter writing peters out with time
Even the secret ones, the very secret ones

Where poets themselves sense nothing,

Of stars and hidden moons
In trivial discussions,

The tenor of events 
Has a stubborn melody

Who is to blame

That moonlight is nothing 
But a reflection of sun.

We keep reaching for stars in a lake

Well aware
That all we catch is fish

Which doesn’t mind the moon to fall

Off the sky, 
And sky doesn't mind either
To become a clear and yawning void.