The Insightful Observer

The human died in the brush, 
but this was not in vain. 
Like a hermit crab shedding, 
the shell is ready 
to rot and rebirth 
new earthly features—
The moon does not speak in the small, broken syllables of men. 
It speaks in gravity. 
It speaks in the deep, heavy tug of a tide 
that runs straight through my veins, 
pulling the wildness up to the surface 
until it spills over the edges of my teeth.
I look up, 
and the sky is a mirror. 
Silver, scarred, and cold— 
it reflects nothing of the girl in the dress, 
nothing of the sheep in the pen. 
It reflects only the lonely.
We stare at each other, the moon and I, 
two solitary monsters comforted by the dark. 
It watches me without judgment, 
and for the first time with comfort, 
I am entirely seen.
Every pull of the tide is a command. 
Every gleam of the light is a mirror. 
I am not lost in the night; 
I am the tide churning sea.
There is nothing I need because nothing is we.