anatomy of the moon (in parts)

I am bent in the middle, by long glass windows from floor to ceiling and long hours from dusk till morning and a single phone call who had gotton the wrong number and some party going on the background turned my face to the sky like I remember the moonscape at Balladona and thinking whatever is inside my head, must look like this. All circles of solar and flecks of reckless light. I was young once and knew all this already. Single. Solitary. Afraid but afraider of needing to be unafraid. It is my suberterfuge to squeal at the thought of living alone. At the deepest most rational part of me, I have a voice steady as a beat that tells me to leave it all alone and come and see ‘this’; apparently I ‘have to see this’. I am all twisted inside and wrapped around a tree, the leaves are precious are rare are me.