In the moonlight we find ourselves

sitting in the old moonlight

horned waning and golden

blue-silk-sheened in the night warmth

the hiding garden alive with soft movement

of light on pale leaves

and deeper shadows.


I dream of her

as she rides the night

illuminating my hot blood

showing all things

in a new light

as she slowly dies


Teaching me my memories

that death is change

that she will be reborn

in argent splendour

that the summer's heat will pass

that the night will end

that clear dawn always follows

and that we will find ourselves