
Dear Moon:
Tonight, I come to you with empty hands
turned upward like two shallow bowls
asking what I've always asked of you
a basketful of moonlight for the road ahead
You who rise faithfully over wilderness and city alike
who've memorized the shape of every ocean
who know what it means to disappear completely
yet trust you'll return whole again
teach me that kind of certainty
Show me how to hold absence and presence as one breath
I have lost my way in the between places
where decisions blur like clouds across your face
and every path looks equally uncertain
Light me forward
old friend
old witness
They say you're made of borrowed light
that you have no fire of your own
but I know better
What else could survive such endless transformation
What else could be so many things at once
muse
compass
confidant
and still rise faithfully each night
So I'm asking
fill my basket with your glow
enough to see by
enough to trust the next step
I don't need the whole journey illuminated
just this patch of ground
this present moment
this single breath
between one phase and the next
You've borne the weight
of all my inquiries
my faltering steps
my endless wandering
And now I ask
one thing more
one breath more
one chance
to be held
by your light
Your earthbound admirer,
A wanderer seeking balance
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Let your becoming be louder than your fear, and your smallest steps become the road you once thought impossible to walk. An Appalachian poet and cookbook author my book Beautiful and Brutal Things is on Amazon, Link 👇
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