A lifetime of wide-eyed skywatching but now 

a glimmering lantern I blindly clutch for

 in or out of this world. A sober Moon incises: 

songs and spells of comfort tell

she is great, synonymous with real magic.

Every part of herself from nothing to all

given and taken through every season.

Long through my benighted dramas, selfish episodes, 

never once has she turned her face away. And so, 

as a tear-blurred befuddled tragedarian

I'll sickle through my stage's back-cloth, run

desperate into deathly twilight, looking up

crazed, wild for my mild elixor. There she is.

'As ever' you say, but it is my vision.