In the dark, listen to Chopin's Nocturnes,
extend limbs, longer and leaner, relevé high enough that the pain
dissipates from your toes.
Thoughts of black ribbon & pearl studs & rain's pearls. Thoughts of filling a small notebook with tracing paper and
collected words about the moon.
"My shadow said to me:
what is the matter
Isn’t the moon warm
enough for you
why do you need
the blanket of another body?"
— Margaret Atwood, “The Shadow Voice”
And at midnight, turn towards la lune.
It's full tonight.