The Man In the Moon

The sky is flecked with
golden stars.
Cream-colored stones splatter
the bark ground,
and I balance on my padded feet
as I walk across the bridge
made of a single tree trunk. 
My toes grip around strips of leathery
branches,
leaves crinkling underneath
my light footfalls. 
Glowing mushrooms
dot the ground,
lighting my path
and making the forest floor
look like the star-speckled sky. 

The clearing is filled with snow. 
Cherry trees line it,
orange trees scattered throughout. 
Bushes with strange red berries
encase it.  

I sit down in the middle of the clearing
and plunge my arms into the ice cold
stream
that gurgles in front of me. 
I lift my arms, reaching to the sky. 

And I feel alive. 
My arms scream,
I see my crystalized breath,
but I feel
alive. 

Water streams down my arms in the moonlight.
I sit in the burning snow
and I sing and tell stories to
the man in the moon
until the raspberry morning light 
seeps upward.