Don’t Howl At Me, Woolf, Go Look For The Moon

Don’t Howl At Me, Woolf, Go Look For The Moon

Do not stand at my door and call it longing,

do not dress your hunger as if it were love.

I have known the sound of teeth in the dark,

I have learned the difference between need and devotion.

You lift your head as if the night belongs to you,

as if sorrow were a crown you alone could wear.

The moon is wide enough for every restless creature,

it does not answer to your cry.

I am not the forest you wander through at will,

not a clearing made soft for your return.

I have built walls from quiet decisions,

and lit my own fire against the cold.

Go and sing to the silver sky if you must,

let your echo circle the sleeping hills.

There is romance in distance, I will grant you that,

yet distance is where I choose to keep you.

You mistake silence for invitation,

you mistake patience for surrender.

I have been still as stone before,

and stone does not break for every voice.

The moon will listen without consequence,

she will hold your howl without reply.

I, however, am made of warmer blood,

and I will not be hunted by sound alone.

So lift your face away from my window,

take your shadow back to the trees.

There is dignity in leaving with pride intact,

there is mercy in knowing when to turn.

Do not howl at me, Woolf,

go look for the moon instead.

She has always loved a restless heart,

and I have finally learned to love my own