© G. V. 01-16-2012, All Rights Reserved
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 twas ascribed in the hung air.
Arcane the moonlight and your stare,
asserted truths that were forgotten,
my only certainty was aware,
in pines our call was sung unoften.
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,
rise to apprise the ghosts of time,
upon the knoll I walked again,
amid the pines, the sage and thyme.
And the green pines, recalled that scarf,
I bought from Indies, on last barque,
demised the trip because the wharf,
never appeared, 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)