Every night
that you were gone

I looked up to the moon

and asked him where you


went. I asked him if he had


folded you into his craters or


swallowed you into the half of


his body that he keeps enshroud-



ed in darkness. I asked him if any



stars had whispered in his ears your



whereabouts or if the sun had caught



sight of you while he was off duty. I



asked him if you’d visited to feel what



what it was like to be made of empti-



ness— to be able to float away where-



ver you wanted. I explained to the moon


that this is what you wanted: nothing to


anchor you down. And I explained


to the moon that this is why you

left— because you never
saw me as anything
more than dead
weight.