The Full Moon

And, when the moon is full,
I feel its upward pull –
Tugging me, tugging me –
As if I am the sea
And I should come ashore
To drench the land once more
In draughts of heavy brine,
An easy feat of mine.

That’s why I cannot sleep
But rise out of the deep
And wander werewolf ways
In a wide-eyed staring daze
And fall for all the tricks
Of the other lunatics.

Or else I sit and write
Like a lover in the night
Who wants to word his love
By the countless stars above
And makes believe it’s true
That they must love her, too.

But that which waxes wanes,
And, having seized my brains,
The moon begins to free
Its stranglehold on me.
I fall back to the ground
Until there comes around
The very next full moon.
I pray it may be soon.

Photo by Guillermo Ferla on Unsplash

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