The August moon hung over our heads like a scolding parent
Yellow, disapproving, lonely.
Telling jokes to the stars at the absurdity of human nature.

Behind wind-storm clouds hiding her shame,
To begin it's waning in the summer night sky.

Sitting on a care-worn porch glistening over family truths,
yet more lies.

The wind whispers in my hair, blowing it dry before I lay down on a stranger's pillow.

Crickets harmonizing with the wind, lulling me to sleep as I lay tossing and turning in the small hours of the anxious night.
I hear my daughter restless next to me.

Thoughts of sun, smiles and memories float under my dreamy eyelids.
Nostalgia turns to melancholy...turns to truth to only a flutter of hope.

Where I lay is not where I belong.
Where I go, is not my destination.

What I hope is held in the August moon high above.


Author: Me