The lightening day.
Watching the coloured moon move
in and out of view.
The moon draws me in.
No dampened tissue of tears
to hold in my hand.
In and out of view.
A calm presence, the eclipsed
moon holds my fatigue.
Poetry | Stories | Photography
The lightening day.
Watching the coloured moon move
in and out of view.
The moon draws me in.
No dampened tissue of tears
to hold in my hand.
In and out of view.
A calm presence, the eclipsed
moon holds my fatigue.
Moving with strangers
The full moon’s shifting focus
A man in the moon
The trace of the moon
between afternoon and night
You exalt twilight
Each day, grey hair falls from
a place once full of colours.
I am reminded of invisibility,
the way I fade into the light.
Within the moon’s darkness
I become increasingly visible.
The garden knows who I am,
and a soft breeze touches me.
The moon and I, we made
a pact of sorts
within the depths of the night.
She, the moon
takes my invisibility from me,
for words with her.
Our discussion ends by the
movement of many clouds.
A breeze becomes a wind,
to accompany the thunder.
The fallen grey hairs begin
their journey into the night.
I enter the house of words,
to travel the colours of sleep.
When the grey of day arrives,
from the moon-lit night,
our words will carry me along.
the wane of the moon
My past and the present go
a new beginning
the moon’s reflection
casting her form on the lake
a wolf steps softly
the calming darkness
a vigil to the moon, night
rebelling the day
eyes to the starscape
stardust falls on my glasses
the moon, they appear
under the full moon
not wanting to say goodbye
on that final day
doing deals with the divine
soul sale for another day
moving towards you
riding soporific waves
guided by the moon