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Borrowed Light

A Letter to the Moon

By Tim CarmichaelPublished 11 months ago • 1 min read

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

nature poetryFree Verse

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 👇

https://a.co/d/537XqhW

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    Written by Tim Carmichael