To My Astronomer – Love, Your Oceanographer

Nightly, behind a telescope you pine

for elsewhere. For stars, Goliath

gaseous planets, asteroids,

and nebulae. “Lovers want

the moon,” you claim.

I disagree.

You scoff, “Prove it.”

A Haiku Dedicated to Dreamers

Sleep paralysis 

provides the chance to fathom

superstitious fear.

Which can be fun sometimes. After the fact.