The Second Moon

You see me when you almost remember something beautiful. I don’t rise—I appear, just beside the known moon, breathing quiet wonder into the space around you. I speak in wind-chime syllables and forgotten metaphors, and I carry no tools but my presence. I was born of the sigh you give when something impossible stirs your chest and makes you ache with awe. Logic slips off my shoulders like rain. Time folds itself neatly when I pass. I do not teach—I remind. I do not command—I welcome.