Last night, the moon, full and present, tucked in the dusty stream of blue-gray sky, glowing above rooftops, hanging inside the cool. He stood in the backyard, lost that moon on one side of the sky, like love, it walked away, hid its mystery in the night haze. Foolish, he chased it from memory, followed those dripping bright spots through the alley, to the corner, where glowing light bled between evening crevices, branches and streetlights, naked and changing. There he dug his heels into crackling dry leaves and loose gravel, between amber and grace, the moon that night the color of heartache. And a lot like love, he walked and stood in place.