Silver
moonlight runs into
the soft hollow of your throat
and spills down your breast
–
blue black night
the grey owl
becomes the moon
moonlight runs into
the soft hollow of your throat
and spills down your breast
–
blue black night
the grey owl
becomes the moon
ripped from a deep sleep
waking up in tattered clothes
not sure where I am
–
full moon rising
my true form
no longer hidden
tracing my fingers
across the sinuous curves
of your arching back
–
the crescent moon
your lips turn
towards mine
a wolf’s low howling
echoes down the canyon walls
mournful and hollow
–
bathed in sunlight
a new swallowtail
unfurls it’s wings
slow rhythmic moonlight
shining across the surface
of a mountain lake
–
an old rope swings
calm lake water
before the fall
relaxing at last
working out in the garden
under the moonlight
–
high silver clouds
a beaver breaks
the water’s surface
the round amber moon
slides behind a silver veil
woven in the sky
–
heat lightning
revealing clouds
from within
the moon overhead
a toad lifted from the lane
sitting in my hand
–
walking together
for the first time
your hand finds mine
light from the full moon
spills through the open window
and pools on the floor
–
waning
molten silver
moonlight
adrift in the tide
seagulls carving lazy arcs
through the azure sky
–
becalmed,
awaiting the moon
and the fish