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
yourself—bursting
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.