Supermoon (For Vincent)

A stubborn distance – having to do with geography but even more than that with navigating humanhood – has, these last three days and nights, weighed on the pillow fort I’ve built in the crook of this supposedly grown-up heart. Prone to childish silences and questions, the supposedly grown-up heart thumped up at last night’s eclipsing, reddening moon, wondering all the time why humans don’t howl. While we have more sophisticated ways of expressing distance and full moons and whatever else can’t sit still in us, there’s something to be said for throwing out one long, guileless cry of concern for whoever is out there into real, actual, non-virtual space, and for the fact that the sound would live and carry not because you had carefully crafted a progression of sentiment that rings just right but because it’s in you and has to come out, and damn the stars if they don’t want to hear it.


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