i used to talk to the moon. we would converse in the late night black. i would ask her how she was doing and she'd tell me stories about the things she had seen that day. i never believed her; they were too true. and then she would ask me about my day. i would tell her about the fireflies and playing frisbee and the donkey who lives with the sheep. i would tell her about my toes and the scritchy part of my back that i cannot reach. and the tiny little toad i saw in the garden and that the blackberries would be ripe soon.