Moon

I grew up afraid of the moon.

I thought it was the pupil 

of some vast black eye,

focused on me only.

It was inescapable,

and followed me everywhere.

It chased me on car rides,

( I could see it following me

through the rear view window)

and peered through my window

at night probing my bedroom

with its icy cold fingers.

The moon still startles me today.

Moonshine dazzles my eyes 

in ways the sun never does,

its silver light an otherworldly

lantern held by a huge black hand.