Goodnight, Moon Poem by John Courtney

I haven't been able to sleep in weeks
so I've been making the moon stay up with me
pulled back from the steady paycheck of
drowning rivers and jungles
I make it hold my hand steady
and light my cigarettes

sometimes the moon is Rachel
arisen from the red hot nothing that we had
when our childhood did the steering
wearing a white gown that hovers
in a bright shadow, a drink held out
and the beams of light bounce repeatedly
from the ice in her glass
to the fire on her tongue
which holds unavailable words
Rachel hasn't thought about me since we were 13 years old
but sometimes she is the moon that stays up with me
and lights my cigarettes

on other nights the moon is my grandfather
as stern as he is sober
through a windshield I watch him
commanding birds to sleep and steering insects
into the wombs of trees
across fields that will never let mornings die
I ask him why he left us here like this
and he holds out a drink
and beams of light bounce repeatedly
from the ice in his glass
to the fire on his tongue
which holds unavailable words
below his perfect mustache
my grandfather doesn't know that I smoke cigarettes
and neither does Rachel
so I've been making the moon stay up with me

perhaps it's time for bed
and which one of you will tuck the moon away?
and what will you call that man
who calls that moon by it's proper name?