subtext

the crescent moon calls through the afternoon

and part of the night as if you were a flower

reaching toward a translucent black sky

toward something just beyond your reach

beyond something other than who you are

perhaps the moon is just the moon and you

are just you not some romantic other

just you drowning in your third glass

of wine or bourbon or whatever

excuse you can find to not be you

and here I am tonight watching the moon

again not that thrilled with the jug wine

I bought and wondering where you are

and why I still want to but can’t love you