THE QUARTER MOON

A quarter moon
shedding light on
the quarter of your mind;
and the remaining half
always in the dark.
A band of stars
a wagon of lights
trailing behind,
abstruse shadows
on the rush of clouds
on the glades of forests
where you weave
and graft structures of meanings
out of a spool of thread
uncoiled from an enormous brain.

Gigantic shadows intervene.
I lose my shadow among the jostling trees.
The snare, the lure of the shadows receding
like images seen in elusive dreams.

I look desperately to hold
the magician's hand.
That was the only voice that could speak to me
with the intimacy of the water and rain,
with the intimacy of the silence under a cloud that is dripping
a language of the infinite sky
over a leafless tree.

It was all in the magic of the hour,
the tree, the shadows and the rain and the sky
and me trying to grasp them all
in the open palm
and then clench the fist
and break the spell of the mystic hour.

Image credit: +Darlene Walsh

Sharing some thoughts with the moon...