Still Moonlit Nights

Oh, quiet nights, your soft pats on my head are reminders of your maternal gift. I seek not to understand you but simply to experience you. The nocturnal fever spins, even owls in confusion. I failed to be nocturnal, and my slumber is heavy upon your touch. My eyes and limbs are stoic but weary. The sweat on my brows— frozen with the quietness of the frozen moonlight. I stumble in the day's lit fire and take courage— that my heart is the torch that leads me through.