All Grown Up.

                           As a child I quailed in the keep of the night

                           as the spill of the moon’s articulate light

                           distorted the shadows to ape and suggest           

                           the shape of the danger that tightened my chest.

                           Now, I can see, in the seep of the sun

                           and the shreds of a night that insomnia spun

                           what I felt was merely a formative blow

                           in a struggle I doubt I will ever outgrow.