STEVE-OKEEFE

When I look at the moon, I often wonder who else is looking. How many children are out past their curfew and have paused to take a look up at the glowing sphere above? Are there lovers lying on blankets, hand-in-hand gazing at the shining orb? Who is the insomniac anxiously watching the moon's trail across the sky? Do they also wonder about me? — Nicole Smiith

The moon is an old friend of mine. She is there for me, every night, whenever I need her. She has given me gifts that a mother gives, except mine did not. She's a cool hand on a hot forehead. My moon reminds me of who I am, when I have forgotten. — Storme O'Keefe