At sixteen I believed the moonlight could change me if it would. I moved my headon the pillow, even moved my bedas the moon slowlycrossed the open lattice.
I wanted beauty, a dangerousgleam of steel, my body thinner,my pale face paler. I moonbatheddiligently, as others sunbathe.
But the moon's unsmiling starekept me awake.
Mornings,
I was flushed and cross.
It was on dark nights of deep sleepthat I dreamed the most, sunk in the well,and woke rested, and if not beautiful,filled with some other power.
