I stared at the face of the moon

but it was not the moon 

that I have known

because tonight 

it wore your face

and all that I could hear

over the coyotes coming in

much closer than they usually dare

and the memory of stars

that left my heart in the storm

of a volatile electric state

were the things 

that I don't want to say

because sometimes I scare myself

and I don't want to scare you too

when gentle does not always mean

avoiding the abrasive

but also the embracive 

when I no longer feel the skin

that keeps the raw from touching

too deeply in the interverse

and the voices come

from too far down the river 

beneath the river that is seen

so that the words 

are better left to dreams

where spirits know how to speak

as spirits and to listen too

because they do not have

the distortion of human tongues

nor human ears

and I don't have to fear

how far inside 

this thread might run

the possibility that I might find

it is anchored somewhere further in

than I have yet to be myself

and comfortable is an orbit

I dare not let the echo of my voice

contort  a chaos of

where the balance is fragile

in the now

if eternal in beyond

and all that I can do

is whisper to the moon

what fires in the heart

from a little piece of solid ground

beneath the river that flows

with water we can taste

and above the one that runs

with stars