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.
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