Fargo, North Dakota


Part 21 of the 64-part series called "moon photos"

I suspect the moon sees you too. Maybe even at the same time.
Its gaze is wide, its face beams down on its creation proudly.
You didn’t expect that, did you? You wouldn’t think the moon
had made all this, but it did. It’s been busy all these years.
It’s only resting now, kneading the sea that’s so far from your shores,
but close to mine. Getting closer every day. Fargo, I don’t know you
past the Coen brothers’ film, the Paul Bunyon statue — but that’s
not even in Fargo, that’s in Brainerd. Is it even nearby? Or is
it in a lot in Los Angeles, slowly sinking under its own weight into
the ocean black as night? Who are you, Fargo? If I come, will you
welcome me? Or will you stare me down like the bright moon,
never turning your face, until I turn around and head back home?