Still in moonlight

That bird in the garden breaks into song.
Breaks into song
sometimes at dusk, sometimes at dawn,
when all the flowers spill their fragrance,
when each bloom dissolves
with the setting sun, when
particles of melancholy light descend upon the sky.

Still, walking again and again in moonlight
that bird calls out. It seems
having crossed some boundless sea,
some shoreless wilderness,
the generous sky of sudden light and
dewdrops pattering on slender leaves—
here in this faded garden…
it will call out.