Moonlight

Photo by Drew Tilk on Unsplash

The sound of you listening

Is as vast as the see

The voice of your silence

Is speaking to me

Be the breath

Of the dead

Be the warmth

Of the night

Be the dust

Of the moon

Playing

With light

The dead that live

The silent that pray

The hope of the night

That travels by day

The hope that is strong

And clear to see

Unless I am blinded

By a vestige of me

That hangs in the odor

Of slippery past

And twines round the bend

Of old memory held fast

That eats at the newness

And pulls out of touch

Those who would be in present

And live to the touch

Refrain the dark night

Of remembrances past…