A crescent moon appears in the sky—
pale blue death, wan and shy.
Shadow-thick forest shores gleam bright,
waves dance restless to songs of new light.
A bird bereft of love sleeps curled,
in its nest on the gooseberry's world.
Where has all the world's clamor gone?
Not a crowd of the dispossessed drawn.
White night slowly extends its stride,
the midnight queen knows not what she's denied!
Seven-horse chariot wheels thunder and roll,
this age's history, savage and foul.
Dead bones pile high in the cremation ground—
black clouds gather where north winds sound.
Yet still I see breath all around.
In my soul, faith runs deep and sound.
The crescent moon suddenly sank from sight,
songs fell silent, rains took flight.
Life moves slow with the wind's soft call—
having gained everything, what did the heart let fall?