Love Song From the Moon

Trees scream: night birds cry. Power lines hum like locusts. In my sleeplessness I float on still air. My skin is stucco. The heart lies dormant. From this window roof tops stand in hazy moonlight. They metastasize and I grow smaller. My hair is shake, my fingernails, tile. The outside calls. Leaves, be my ears. Return me from my structure. But I am mute; I no longer speak that language. I converse in drywall and plaster, have learned to function on the moon.