that moon is a mangle of footsteps from astronauts
aquatic larvae’d flies fondle exposed ankles
a moose forges puddles of soil into the ground with weight of run
everything tastes better out here–even sadness
root toenails into tree bark and use those scratches as poetic call-outs
swim bones forward and backward 
trance the sun with your skin
a burn of hallucinogenic musical
sleep against the stir of stars and sweat of silence
here is where a film exists from the time you found your way back