When you walk on the earth,
you, you, any of you not me,
the moon's a useful adjunct,
a thing in the sky, a
shining, changing, something,
its light a pale plagiarism
of y/our mother son.
When I walk on the earth,
me, alone, and only me,
the moon's a haunting presence,
a home in the sky, a
shining, changing recall
its light my soul's reflection
and my own mother's voice.
I walk at nights, in woods,
on streets, across unnatural lawns,
in order to be in it, moonlight,
in order to bathe in it, home.
Every shrinking silver's like
my mother saying, you don't
call, love me, live here any more.
Every sight reminds me
how far I am from home.
I know everyone travels
and things get in between
your beating hearts and home.
Nothing's in between mine,
238,000 miles of nothing,
save the cool gray glow
of moon light, that vanishes
on nights you call new moons,
on nights I call betrayal,
on nights we must call learning.