Towards My Friend, the Moon

by Evan Pausic


You had to have been born 

outside a blue barn.

When you found a blackberry 

bush there, you took 

its stalk’s dark 

children in your 

hands and let them 

drizzle down your face.


Like a child 

you love the moon—

dressing yourself 

in secrecy—

whispering worn out 

songs without end—

tangling with nightmarish

obsessions that destroy 

you—but you will 

find the door.


You will grow past 


through the midnight 

flesh of this earth—

swimming out 

of the murky pond water 

you’ve been floating 

through—willing yourself 

up to the new night’s 

silver sun, reborn

and beloved.


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