I have asked the moon to bring me peace, and though that ball of blasted rock – all pocks and craters and lava flows – can lift the seas and slow the earth, it cannot do this little thing and bring me peace. I have asked the wind to bring me peace, but the wind hears only the shrill cries of the bereaved and maimed who suffer beneath the calamities that the wind so carelessly blows about our fractured globe, all wars and famines and profits for the rich. I have asked my soul to bring me peace, but my soul says he does not know how, so must ask the moon.
There will be rest, I know, soon enough, and I will be glad of that. But each intervening day burns away like acid another layer of my sorry soul, and even his inner core is dwindling now, his inner depths exposed. Sometimes he plays a tune upon my lyre when I am scarce awake, and I hear his song so sad and pale, it makes me want to weep.
 The energy expended in lifting the oceans as the seas rise and fall, as the planet rotates within the orbit of the moon, causes two things to happen: the moon gradually moves away from the earth, its orbit growing wider and wider, and the rotation of the earth is gradually arrested.