In the white and milky moonlight,
in the shallow and seemingly subtle cracks,
the stories lay thick in layers from one day to the next,
accumulating, unwritten and unread
like old magazines in the corner of the closet.
If I could close the door and crouch in silence,
hide with the dark and peel the vibrant colors off the walls and onto pages,
would the words be more pungent?
Could this be the yellow sulphur that leaps
to burn the eyes and nose?
They beckon, the calls, and
flit about like gnats on a hot, sticky night.
The tick tock of the mother clock
spooling the yearn into a tight embrace,
saved for some later time
and some distant space.
A deeper question permeates—
if all I had was what I always wanted
would it really give me all that I need?
The sincere mother’s wishes are unfooled.
From nature’s pulse, a whisper beneath the lobe
“All you have is all you need
and the Want must stand alone.”
for all who moonlight and have a distant dream:
wherever you can, whenever you can, however you can