a sliver of a moon highlighting
a stone house by a river
full of young people, rushing
hither and thither, a cascade
of sound, untramelled energy,
a highlight of laughter, a blaze of eyes,
no disguise
in so many intelligent discriminations:
of face, of education, of class, of race
we knew it couldn’t last:
some retreated for forty years or more
but I always knew I’d return
in floating dream and stark reality
to settle nothing more than a musical score
of moonlight on youth
at a time of hoar frost
with star-crossed lovers
tossed on this bonfire of the vanities
by the wonder of years.

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