In the moonlight
I am as ungrateful as a rich man’s child
angry at the sky
why don’t you tell me
I am beautiful
why have you left me
wondering
why the night has greeted me
with cold fingers
why can’t I remember
her voice
now
in Los Angeles
where the dogs
are whimpering
the night is neither winter
nor summer
you are not
here
if you are
at the tip
of the clouds
that shyly track the moon
tell me I am beautiful
tell me that
was all a dream
you were having
of the book you were reading
about a man
in a high castle
about a vantage point on the world
where the future was
something else