Full Moon and Little Frieda

 A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket -
And you listening.

A spider's web, tense for the dew's touch.

A pail lifted, still and brimming - mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.


Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm
wreaths of breath -
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.

'Moon!' you cry suddenly, 'Moon! Moon!'

The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.

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