The moon was sad, as only the moon can be,
Men in tears seek to flee the nightmare of their lives
We dream that with the fingers we can pluck
The calmness of flowers, the depths of moments,
The comradeship of dogs,
The completeness of a live birth;
White sobs slide into our ears
Remembering the smile of my mother,

On the fortunate day of our first kiss.
The past is a magnet, a mongrel
Drunk with the all the heady scents of sadness
ingrained into the DNA of the everyday
 gather a dream in the heart of the matter
Eyes rivet on this stranger’s eyes
In a mirror floating on a tide of sea.
Her mouth moves but I hear nothing
I see her eyes blaze, her hair set just-so.
In the street she remains the mistress of horology
and in the evening she skips the light fantastic
on the lawn where I saw a fairy cry bitter tears
For the beautiful sleep spoiled child she had been.
She kept her eyes tightly closed and saw only
Snow white bunches of fragrant stars.