Ah, Mrs. Moon! So nice of you to join us (hexameter sonnet)

Pale rose moon rose into first blue then purple sky
then changed into an evening dress of shining bone
as spangled Port Hills lurched from white sarcophagi. 
As one admired it, one realised: I'm not alone!

No, not alone, & they weren’t looking at the moon
but at yours truly. Please have better things to do
when moons are full than staring at one’s blissful swoon,
or anyone’s! Their stares distracted me askew.

I watched my interface. What does one even say 
to people who blurt, oh, a couple hundred words,
a dozen prefab lines, stage Earth's most boring play?
They are as differentiated to me as the birds

because they give no thoughtful traction for one’s wheels
& will not speak their living minds or go on spiels.