Phases
(Pen in hand, the work will follow --
writers’ nature deplores a hollow)
I’ve seen the moon
in many phases
a wonder to behold
with telescope
sought clearer to define
only so much revealed
by the human eye unaided
the blinkered heart
having even less options --
senses themselves
Creation’s greatest mystery
what determines a life
the mortal language of feelings
very private till on vivid display
the craters of the moon so much like
love, even in light a pocks of shadows
at its elusive edges – strange what
we gaze upon in our abstract nights
wondering if you occasionally recall me
if you yet have visions of me and notion
to wonder what may have been missed
in transience?
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