Confessing to the Stars

Alone.
Well, not really.
Last night the moon tried to intrude--
his slit eye peeking, watching,
listening.  So tonight I sent him to his room.
It's just me and the sparkle-eyed sky now.
My rock awaits me atop the hill;
its course, grainy back greeting me
telling me it's been a while
since I've sat here.  Confessions don't happen
too often, but with tail tucked between legs
I look towards heaven--
is this how Adam felt
after he ate the fruit?  Scared, empty, guilty...
wanting to be rid of a nagging conscience;
wanting blood back in veins.  And like gravity
plucks the apple loose, the stars pull
confessions out from between my pores;
hairs on my body stand to allow more room
for them to pass.  And the stars twinkle
to let me know they hear.  But somewhere,
in my suffering soul I pray,
that in-between the stars
God will be listening too.