The Best Part of the Night

The best part of the night is the dim healing light of sweet sister moon. The best part of the days, though lost in the Great Wide Blue, is the dilute resolute sunrays bouncing their lonely ways from white through black to greys; from greys through black to blue and on and on to me to you The moon, at best, is wondered at, is welcomed, is oooooed at for a stolen moment here a full moon minute there. A poem lasts forever but fails to hold the moon in mind for long. For me, when moon is lost - Cloud cover. Unseen in whitewash days. Behind the silhouette trees. When new. There is you. There is you...