One time moon cracks into my sleeping order, full and bold. In my hammock I sit upright , but no less still, like an unnamed expression on a restful tongue. Hard not to be stared out by the sole headlight. I wonder if the stars feel the same , perplexed by so much radiance at night. Darkness is but a myth and Freddie sings on. I have one question: if butterflies single out a flower and beckon its nectar to follow , then who’s draw to the moon is strongest to lap at its dusty surface? I happily remain here in my earthly promise of safety, never truly kept. My hair unruly and clouds disperse unseemingly, my eyes are level with the moon. Harbored sunlight in the fall of a day, reflected in a round circle hugging the night, is magic.