The moon is calling out to me again.
Sitting under her soft, hazy, glow, she whispers my name.
I hear her gentle voice inside, as the sound of my heart, beating rhythmically, like a drum.
Thoughts fall away, while I listen and the beat grows stronger still.
I know what she wants, this crazy moon-beat of mine; she wants me to gaze on her, knowing I am seeing myself.
In her, I see my own light, tonight soft and mellow, at other times, radiant and magical.
What a crazy, mixed up world this is, that the moon speaks to me so.
And I, fool that I am, take the time to listen.