Moonlight

I stood under the monthly moon, like a metaphorical shy; half with the world and the other half blinded for a self imposed censor on nakedness; with my back blistered in its coolness; with an inky brother eating my other half that now stared at a monster that tailed me in darkness and light called a shadow; a brother that wouldn’t talk or reflect features like brother mirror. He failed to be more than a brother; his persistence irked me. And I pitied him for his failure to evolve into anything more defined. He but existed. Ha! I guffawed at him and he couldn’t even laugh back at me! I prided in a miniscule victory over someone that was me and couldn’t be me at the same time. The moon still burnt my back. I ran from it. Into the corners of the background that burned in the moon’s nightly permanence. Into the bushes that but failed to clothe me. Into the trees that had muter shadows for brothers. Into the world that was sat on their verandahs and ooh-aahed at the moon. Into the streets that hid none. I cringed into the inevitability of identity; bought or borrowed from the moon and light and anything iridescent. Phooey! For even the idea was but a flash. I was caught. They might as well drag me onto the street and stone me naked until they knew that I knew the light. And dear brother that doesn’t leave; would but sit and cry with me, in his silence and darkness. And I knew he smiled at me, as I looked at him in a new light.And as the moon lit a face, it mortared the surroundings into what was lit alike. And the dark remained dark. And the newly lit, lit.