Moon-song

.

The roundly orb is quiet,

deep above the ocean

she is silver with echoed luminosity.

In your eyes,

she is a flame in circle’s guise

in rising swathes of night,

the tip and curl

of your gentle lashes.

She is a sea,

alive with the flicker of fish

and the forgotten glow

of the sun,

whom we have left behind.

She is white too,

deeper in her pales

than the blackest of the wolves,

a tarn of swollen neglect

and sweet abandonment.

Her gazes

are kindly reflections

cast upon your mirror face,

as though the murmur

of your voice

would be once more lively

as it trickled through my ears

and hands

with remembered melodies.

The music of your coming

is a celebratory red,

yet pure as snow

upon the shores…

the beam of her cold cerous intensity

begins to glitter

with mild yellow creams,

warm with sympathetic gleamings of light,

for you have none left to give…

for you have no breath left

with which

to

live…