Tired and cold
she came to a clearing
beside the river
and set herself down.
There, the moon.
The moon.
*
Not once had she dreamed
to bring the moon any closer.
Not once had she wished
it would move any faster.
*
How to stay in this place
of not wanting
not needing
not wishing
not hoping
not reaching, not knowing.
*
At the edge of whatever
she thought she knew
she leaned
until the only thing
touching her
was nothing.
*
Sometimes a story
ends. Sometimes it
plays again. Sometimes
we see through a story
to see ourselves.