the moon is in my bed at its brightest, 3:30 or something close. moonbeams smothering. it’s kept me restless the same way sharing a bed with someone new keeps me up. I don’t worry but I cant sleep well. one and two nights driving home I pass the same coyote, on an empty highway late in the night. I drive home both of these nights smelling like diesel, dropping off hay and trying something new. I tell a friend how little the men I see can hurt me right now, that I’m just letting go the same as I let in, that I really mean it. I like you means I don’t want anything from you. I play hands I can’t lose; I don’t worry about what’s at stake, it’s all the same. I sit on my back porch each night to watch the dogs watch the night. 4am is when it’s as quiet as it can be, but it’s not still or peaceful the way I know a night could be.