it’s just that the moon loves me so.

I like to practice being lost.
Out amongst the squirrels

and the crepuscular navy.
Twilight screams as the

sky swirls red and
blue

the only
other noise

the howling
of the moon,

telling us
it’s here again.

I like to
practice

being primarily
alone, as if the sky

foreshadowed
the breaking

of my heart
with every screech

and the moon
is the only one

who can keep
me company now.

The sky
swirls

start to
disappear.

We’ve been in
it for a while,

for the long haul,
the moon and i,

watching and waiting
as the twilight shouts.

I sometimes wonder
if the setting sun

sees me making
eye contact

waiting for the moon
to come back to me.

I hope the sun knows
it’s not that I don’t like it–

it’s just that the
moon loves me so

much
more,

it’s proven that
every time it thwarts

my sleep. The moon
loves me so remarkably

it cannot let
me rest. It shines

bright until it wrestles
me from a loose slumber,

insisting I stay awake:
“company..”

until the moon has to
leave again,

teaching me sometimes
even love needs a break…

so on occasion
I sleep
instead of keeping
up the camaraderie;

i hope the
moon knows
i‘ll be back
tomorrow.