Sometimes I Walk with the Moon

Sometimes I walk with the moon.  Sometimes she walks with me.  I don’t mean we walk in dreams, where dream is trope for something more.  The moon is just the moon.  And, if anything, I indicate the something more.  Or something less.  She shines.  I, well.  Tonight, if I ask every sleepy creature – children, mothers, fathers, dogs – to open up its eyes a little but somehow stay asleep, what will become of me? Shadow, I say.  It is a whispering and it sounds like the wind.  The trees begin to understand in spring.  But now bare limbed they seem dumb.  Sometimes I walk with them.  Sometimes I am beyond their spell.