Poet's Moon
Standing here
Miles from home
Where moonlit wheatfields
Inspire me to write
October’s whisper
Causes their stir
And I watch as they
Undulate like ocean
Or satin sheets
Billowing over a bed
And I know there is
A language to this
One that transcends
The spoken
For poetry
In its purest form
Is lost in the translation
And I wish to return
To that moment
Before the moon expires
Beneath that silver sea
Laden with diamond dew and sleep
Draped in dreams and stardust
And write myself into that poem.
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