Away with the moon

with her shadows and all

those sturdy penumbras

you saw in the ball.

Forget you, forget you

we fall out of bed

and all we beget

is quite suddenly dead.

 

She’s tousled & sleepy,

this edge of the moon,

where

Angus, dear Angus,

just walked out the room.

His pool-side of shadows

is living alone;

with ginger-nut biscuits

and large gulps of tea,

his shadow is thinking:

is that really me?

 

Are all of the currents

just drifting away,

or finally forging

a minor delay?

To foster a loyalty

to heart, clan or cloud

to cover our heads

as we bury her shroud?

 

Infinity saves,

where the icicles cling,

on the edge of a wave

where the albatross sings.

Now, the soft roar of silence

is all around me,

it stings me awake,

but it wont set me free.