Away with the moon

with her shadows and all

those sturdy penumbras

you saw in the ball.

Forget you, forget you

I  fall out of bed

and all you beget

is so-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;

my 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 their heads

or to bury their shroud?

Infinity saves,

where the icicles cling,

on the edge of a wave

as the albatross sings

this side of the grave.

Now, the soft roar of silence

is all around me,

and it stings me awake,

but it wont set me free.