That lone moon hung in the sky.
Darkness fell all around.
Grass, tickled by the light wind, gave way.
I sat there.
Watching moon beams slice the night.
They didn't touch me.
Only the single cool breeze sat with me.
Together we agreed to solidarity.
Scratching and pulling like those moonbeams against the grass.
We all have scars when it departs.
The moon shrugged nodding toward the stars.
The wind and I agreed acknowledging ours.
Letting go is hard.
In a single angry puff the wind whipped through the field
chasing his heart.
I look to the moon to feel less alone.
It is too late.
She has pulled a blanket of clouds shielding her face.
Tears fall as abundant as the grass in the field.