Think of me as the eyes of late nightfall
crawling through a wafting sill
where lone moon cuddles dimmed glow
before she quietly slowly lays
herself on a cradle of clouds
as whistle of barn owl and incantations groans.
When dusk explodes into ash
upon fairways that lap,
think of me
mysteriously walking on the ledge
of our winding grassland
picking bluebells in wanderlust.
And when candles snuff the lampshades
think of me,
like the velvet skin of dusk fall
circling in a world of marbled thoughts
until you etch the back of my spine
to lullaby the sourness of truant dreams.
The stars play game-spy with the wind
rowing into a wave of dewy cruise;
I enter into your own lenses, a search light
that becomes the harbour of some peace
while echoes of unknown voices speak...
It is at this juncture when you, perhaps,
might think of me
lending a gentle taste of assurance
that the next hours will stir a brightened sun.