from her window zoey can watch

the moon's progression

across the night sky   though   not this night   

or any night this week

the moon already too far west

and too low   by the time she is abed   

~

she usually watches the moon

during the wee hours   

when her first sleep has passed

and the second yet to come   

the moon is a comfort

cool and distant on a summer night   

warm and inviting on a winter night

a quilt for the mind   its absence is felt

complicated

still   zoey's thoughts are not linear

cool and distant

warm and inviting   may be comforting

but the night is often long   the mind

goes where it will

she may hear echoes   may make tea

sit on the steps of her caravan   

breath in the air 

may bury herself deeper in bedding

pray   tremble   find solace   long for a mother   

a lover   something she knows not what

the warm cold truth

she may long for samuel   

who is gone

but she does not

she tied her well-being   

her happiness

to him   she came to understand

such single-mindedness is misplaced

were it to be   fine

it was not to be   fine  

her longings have evolved   

aches of emptiness

of longing   are real   the ache

of emptiness and longing for one man

has passed

~

through her window moonlight

low and to the west

casts the barest shadow 

she falls asleep   when she wakes

from her first sleep

she may see stars or no stars

she will feel what she feels   react as she reacts

that is all she can do   will do