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.