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...
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