running toward the moon

Hanging like a half lit ornament against an opaque background

it looks after me, or down on me.

I can’t tell.


My pores itch to release the heat of the day

into the cool night wind

underneath its dim light.


I let the cool darkness consume

until every inch reaches toward that light

comfortably, rhythmically, by choice.


The submission feels good

and I trust the semicircle in the sky

until next light.


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