You work quietly. And I sit. Before the moon and god, I pledge allegiance to your shoulder blades. An under covers oath whispered to my favorite mole. And when you crack me open, smooth and easy, tell me, do you examine the fracture? Chart its path? Consult your lists? Follow the fissure? ...its winds and sharp turns, to the first autumn night when you placed the stars into my upturned palms? And I drank? I raise my finger laced cup and you laugh at the world. "Humans are funny. With their big white shoes and long faces." I salute the night. You inhale.