I am awake. I press my will insistently against the world.
No dull round of days (safe within doors, dry as dust) will satisfy me–
I must move as lover, and beloved.
I love the bright glancing rays of the most-full moon,
Trembling swollen on the horizon, peeping through the trees.
I love this soft indigo dusk, the tread of my bare feet through cool grass,
The prickle of twigs and smooth lump of fallen acorns.
I love the smells on the night wind, the pallid glimmer of the stars,
The mossy grit of the cold concrete stoop.
And the earth presses back against my soles, so steadfast, so shy.
The moon sees me, and limns my face with silver.
The wind brushes a dry kiss across my cheek, tousles my hair fondly.
I am alive. I am whole and strange and endless.
As lover and beloved, I must move.