I heard the moon today,
amidst the clamour
inside my face,
behind my heart.

It was spinning,
spinning, lost
and dark, flashing
between earth and sun,
baking, freezing,
baking freezing.

She had no green, no gold.
She had no food…but
worst of all…she had
no voice.

No voice,
to tell of
endless sojourn
hours, of blazing
hot and ever-cold
and only moments
in between, on the cusp
of congruence

and…
and…
and,
well,
she had
no way
to tell
what the
and is.

But I heard her,
the moon, today,
in my bones’ ache
and in my throat’s clench.
I heard her in my teeth grinding
and biting my lip bloody
to stifle my own
absurd and
desperate
groan.

Like the moon,
I circle, spin, and
move from pole to pole,
and find moments when I am
on the cusp of congruence.

My pain
her voice…

I heard the moon today.