it was full and the fullness passed. as always, the full moon left rain in its wake.

we slept in the first day it rained. one always does.

the days clumsy, the nights inchoate with anxiety. we traversed our bedsheets, in search of the perfect sleeping position. the perfect asana of sleep.

there was no peace, no rest. only moonlight slowly strobing the room in sync with hurried clouds. our minds, like the moon, shone through, ready to make lists, recount the bills we owed, sing the words we never sang.

© 1990 - 2003 Katharina Woodworth