The Moonman

Sometimes waxing, sometimes waning,
Sometimes he just disappears into the black,
But he's always there:
all day, all night,
Even if I never see him.
Or so I believe.

At one time I almost touched his surface
From my window pane.
And more than ever
I believed.

I believed in falling stars and constellation yarns;
A kind of innocence that can only be regained
Through moonlight and car rides
and licorice whips and piggy back rides.

So I believed.

And just once the moon became a man.
He escaped from the sky just like the rain
escapes the clouds.

And before he evaporated back into a black,
he gave me a vial blessed with the water and gold
that I never thought a Moonman could have.
And now he doesn't.
Because I do.

And I put that vial in that one pocket
that one pocket I'm not opening yet
to save it for another day,
For a day I wouldn't see The Moonman,

but believed

      believed

      believed

in seeing him again,
because I had gold and water
that he gave me
from his hands.

He's inconsistent, that Moonman, I mean.
Wax, wane, wax, wane,
and then

^-poof-

he's gone;
and then he's back.

He is All and Out-of-Reach
visible and beyond my grasp
But I believe in him always
even when he is lost

in the deepest,

                                  darkest,


                                                             black.