The night sky visits me cloaked in foamy clouds and within them she hides the stars. The moon is white and the air is cool and pleasant. Autumn is on her way and I feel her jittery impatience in the coolness of the sunniest days. Without love everything feels like a race to an ending. Summer is almost completely gone. My eyes are transfixed on an almost full moon stuffed with milky dreams, like laundered white linen. I can see glimpses of what is to come when my head hits the pillow. Maybe love, if only brief. My feet continue to go and are foolishly assured in their steps on a path they do not know. When do boys become men and discard rashness of youth? I don’t know. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the moon, but I feel especially and forever a boy tonight, dreaming dreams bigger than myself. I’m that boy again staring at the moon, but this time I can no longer see the long-bearded old man who whispers quiet wisdom. Is it the fault of my eyes? My feet get lost and I’m turning door knobs that do not belong to me. I’m warm with embarrassment, hoping the world is asleep and does not see me ask the moon to grant me wishes that may never come true.