I wander to soft dirt that will be soon be covered by wooden floors and welding flowers at night quite frequently because that’s when the world shifts from a camouflaged face to bare blue skin.

The sun never sobs.

The sun sets to slumber, just to rise again.

The moon comes around when the kids with no parents are weeping and the moon comes around when drug dealers are dealing and the moon comes around when invaders are out for the distressed and vulnerable and the moon comes around when I’m lying to my dog that I’ll be okay but when the moon is erased from this celestial sphere I always wonder what it is feeling.

Isolating itself from being spied on by billions of humans, insects, and bears.

Being surrounded by trillions of stars.

The moon is raw.

The moon is me.