Photo by Jesse Gardner on Unsplash

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 this 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.