FULL MOON ON TOP OF A CHAMPAGNE PALM'S TIP

you call my name
in one of my nights
you feel me i am
cold.

it is dark and you
begin to measure
my voice.
and you tell the
stars
i fall short of the
required length.
i do not speak to
be measured like
a mete like a boundary
of land.
the next time you come
here
and then call my name
again
i will no longer be around.
i sing because i want
to fill this void.
I stay the whole night
long
to know what is
dark and cold.