“Where the Moon Sleeps”

I met the moon on the hill where he sleeps.
I asked him where he was coming from.
He laughed, and said,
“We were born in the same place,
on the same day.”
“But where are you GOING?”
I asked him. “Did your footsteps
help raise you, in the same way
that mine helped me?”

When I was eighteen, I learned better
than to reach with my hands.
Because when I held them in front of my face,
they were always empty.
Just like my mother’s eyes,
the day that I told her
that when she wasn’t looking,
her daughter had disappeared.

And now, she’s blessed with a son.

You say that she loves me regardless,
but she doesn’t even know my name,
and much less, where I’m coming from.
So, I keep walking. Hoping that one day,
she’ll see the footprints. Maybe
she’ll come looking for me.