My son asked me on a night ride home 
Is the moon less than the sun

And as we drove deeper into the hush of light 
His question reminded me

Of a spaceship 
Set free from its rocket
Even though I don't believe in space or time

I name
Each of his cosmic theories:

The upright crescent 
The moon as a wall clock
The mystery of Jupiter and Pluto
The girl in his class that knows about zodiacs

The more we know 
The less we can pronounce
About this infinite rhythm

My son can map out city shortcuts
Can solve math problems midair
Can calculate the distance between planets

But in his realm
He is only concerned 
With the dynamic of two stars 

I want to tell him how honest
The moon is like the sun
That all light is synonymous with truth
Sacred
But he does not understand yet

My son under a new moon 
Questions everything
Curious cosmos 
Unswallowed nebula

Dear blood moon
Is it not good for Black boys to imagine?
To ponder on this hierarchy of love?

And I can’t help but focus
On our car which is now a spaceship 
Bright stars splayed and gleaming 
Vastness of sky as deep as ocean
Karaoke our favorite rap songs 
Moon to my sun
Sun to his moon
Truth in my gravity
Identity in reflection
Power 
Responsibility
Countdown for liftoff 

Body of water

Body of light 

Body of infinite rhythm