To An Ailing Daughter

The moon peeped Through the window When I was looking for the sun the waterfall of light the splash of life, the romping sight? Papa! Take your brooding palms out Look at the moon— the breeze of beam spraying silver beads tinkling grace in dim… Tend a pill of poesy for me… lull me with silver pills. Aily, dear! Silver dissolving in pools of tear The Muse’s choked with dust of silver… Silver-mess all around My moon spewing silver-cough. Where’s my sun? The sun of the other day fading like the moon sipping the quarantined silver - spoon. Spit at my littered silver lines wriggling vines Wait…I am scanning the sun to shine and sing vermilion; remain, my moon!