Nothing

My mother is scared of the world. She left my father after forty years. She was like, Happy anniversary, goodbye; I respect that. The moon tonight is dazzling, is full of   itself  but not quite full. A man should not love the moon, said Milosz. Not exactly. He translated himself into saying it. A man should not love translation; there’s so much I can’t know. An hour ago, marking time with someone I would like to like, we passed some trees and there were crickets (crickets!) chirping right off  Divisadero. I touched his hand, and for a cold moment I was like a child again, nothing more, nothing less.