by Tavis Moon

The moon sags low in the sky tonight,
Blood orange against a black sky.
Threatening storm clouds choke,
But the moon peaks through as if to remind me
That it still knows the way back home.

Off in the distance a cold coyote cried.
I think a part of me died.
I stared at the moon and made a wish
That I, too, could howl late into the night.

I do not know which way to go —
Into the woods or the more dense forest.
Boxes of memories stacked up high.
The moon peaks through as if to remind me
That it still knows the way back home.

I lay down in the cool grass
And let the breeze wash over me.
The only time I feel truly free
Is when the moon is watching over me.

Fog lingers and mosquitos bite.
All I want to do is howl at the moon.