Last night the moon told me to pass,
from that same knoll we used to walk,
midwinter's cold, after school's class,
- I heard the silences to talk.
The moon above, was a waxed smile,
transmitting to creation light;
the pines were present and the aisle,
recalled my bronze six buttons bright.
I think the night wanted to talk,
or maybe to attend and care,
something was missing from that walk,
but was ascribed in the hung air.
Arcane the moonlight and your stare,
asserted truths that were forgotten,
my only certainty was aware,
the pines our song recited often.
I think you passed alone from there,
before the solitude to nest,
upon my Oxford blue sky's fare,
and constellation of Northwest.
Ascend above the stars of then,
appreciate the ghosts of time,
upon the knoll I walked again,
amid the pines, the sage and thyme.
The arbor greens, recalled that scarf,
I bought from Indies, on last barque,
half-ended trip because the surf,
never revealed the moors in dark.
Blue waves on silk, buoyancy failed,
betimes it was this last of nights,
the winds of Indian reckon wailed,
sea waters entered from dead lights.
© G. V. 01-16-2012
( Iambic tetrameter)