When the moon at last relents,
pushing through the pines to see
me barefoot in the dark yard
it always takes your side.
I step upon the sharp rocks
my bad blood and misshapen gait
make me dance a little dance as
I ask after you, head aimed high
like pressing heaven to confess
its many crimes. The moon aloof
refuses to give you up,
it whispers to the winds who
tells the pines to sweep and sway
brushing me off, shooing me
away in my rags and madness
sending me reeling, casting my lot
all odds and orbits, the stones
tending to my wounds
your secrets safe from
my greedy fingers and allotted
compliment of bleeding scrapes and cuts.
The moon becomes and fades over
the months and days that run
so fast and feel so slow, my life
the shimmer of moths caught
between the porch light and
the bent of the flood of sky,
your tears and smiles the ten thousand
goodbyes inferred and implied,
still I won’t give you up.
I won’t let go
though you are gone
I won’t let go.