Do you want to see the moon?
I want to be the moon.
I want to float up to the sky among celestial diamonds plastered into the night
I want to watch the Earth from afar
and take in the all of the beauty and pain of humans wholeheartedly

Yes, I want to see the moon
I don’t know you very well.
But I’ll follow you to the east side of the island,
Where you say the moon is.

This way.
My bare feet are painted in bloody scratches from the rocks,
and I leave a red mark beneath everywhere my feet step,
carving a path of my own on unmarked gray rocks.
The boulder obstacle course I venture over vanishes
as my hair drips down beside me in wavy ornamentation
My hands are empty, free and light

Almost there.
I wonder if you really mean that.
I’m sure you’re lying by now, but your eyes are dancing
with the sparkling sense that you know something that I don’t.
The grains of sand push down under my feet
like a million fallen tears and I ask myself who you are.

Are you the moon?
You act like it.
An extra-terrestrial crescent glowing in the pitch black
among radiated little rocks of illumination.
Well, you must be, because the moon isn’t here.
I don’t see it.
The sky is staring back at me blankly
As I look for answers I can read on your face that you don’t have them.

Why did you take me miles across the island?
I ask you, my stubborn arms folded in the front seat of your car
facing away from you, eyes still hopelessly scanning the sky
for something that is hidden.
My damp body curls up in the corner
under the security blanket of my leather seat belt
trying to make itself as small as possible.
Smoke curls out of the corner your mouth
and out of the window into the cool air
you shrug and smirk, pressing hard on the gas.