tone pome for a lost wolf

i wanted to tell you about the time, when i was only sixteen and the impossible loves in the world were already closing in, when i was bombarded with too much camus and starting to wonder about nihilism, when i was only sixteen and the world was not as young as they told me it would be, when i was wide awake in the middle of a night with a full moon that came in through the window, silver water on my head and on my bed.  i opened the white sheet and when it reflected silver back to the moon, i knew this was going to be much more than i expected, and i went through the next day wondering how and who i could tell about all the secrets i was finding there, and i never wanted to stop feeling like that.  it went sleepy on me for a while, and then it didn't come back, and i thought it was gone, and that's why every time i fell in love with you i didn't want to be far, because when i was far i was worried that i would start crying, and i don't like to cry, because it's dangerous on a motorcycle.  but it came back when i least expected it, when it was 120 degrees and everything seemed lost, and everyone around me told me and reflected this loss, and i wanted to believe them, but there was this silver light that was shining through everything.  and every time i made words work it started to make the engines in my blood start to turn, and the animal that i was couldn't compare to the animals that i learned how to become.  everything in this has been learning, learning the things i thought i already knew, but never knew if they would work in the world, too old by now to pretend to be young.  this last moon was strange, and brought things to light that still look terribly cloudy, and i'm not sure of any of it, but i know that these things do work in the world, and sometimes the old world is more worthy of love than the young one, and sometimes i can see that they are exactly the same, but i didn't know that until i started walking in it, walking a little slower, trying to understand what it might be like to walk with love, until my understanding became something far from relevant, because this is love, and that's all it is, and that's all it will ever be, and it's silver and it shines and it reminds me of who i think you might turn out to be, when all the false lovers are gone, and all the masks are worn thin, and all the tricks in your backyard pots are put to rest so that the next thing can begin.  i'm putting my spells on hold, and holding things under my tongue until they dissolve like rain, and putting to rest all those voices that tell me this moment is not enough, because they are liars, and rain pours through everything that we are, like the hundred moons through the window, that count the months and the sorrows of the dead, and they say that everything that we are is more than we had imagined, elements and ancestors guide our blood, and the road to them is the same one beneath our feet. 

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