midnight ruckus

Full moon sneaks into town and steals my sleep.

My spirit animals chase each other around my studio and through my half waking, and I'm not really sure what that means.

Wolf.

Fox.

Hart.

Whale?

Falcon.

Swan.

The fox is only joking, half the time.
The fox is only joking half the time.

Full moon sneaks into town and steals my sleep. Makes me sound crazy and redundant. Makes me vibrate, blood humming. Makes me speculate in the silver dark. Makes the animals restless.

A thief, and a gifted one at that.

Suddenly bored, it seems the desultory race has dissolved into a game of the-floor-is-hot-lava. Deer on the table, fox on the fridge, wolf on the ottoman. Swan in the bathtub, falcon on the bookcase. Whale has a distinct advantage. Did you ever see Life of Pi? Beautiful. They stare, in the animal way, which is to say none of them are looking at me directly and hence I've never felt so keenly observed in all my life. I feel near feral myself. Achingly alert.

Love: It will kill you and save you, both.

I am not high. I swear. It's only the moon, dragging me out of my bed, toward the sky.

The animals flicker, then collapse like stars.