A few tattered clouds stood
splayed out and lavender
against the pale grey
of a morning sky.

Touching her face
a western breeze brought
thoughts of someone
she had loved.

In that moment
she turned her gaze
to the lovely pale glow
of a daylight moon.

A line thin curved
in pale green sky
as the edge of a coin
or an elegant breast
the hundred degree moon
wafted silently above
glowing streets
of a city asleep.

In places the line
is invisible that
divides this country
from that.

A broad
empty
space is there
and many die
crossing.

Transluscent
perriwinkle
with stripes of white
and lilac were
the curtains in
her bedroom.

An easy breeze
would move them
gracefully
billowing to fall
silent against
a blue painted sill.

Evenings
were ours but not
to hurry
or to miss
the pleasance of
her warm skin smooth
against my own.

He had loved the moon

beautiful and pale
shining a white
enchantment down
to light a dark place
a warm inviting glow
that drew him
tugging at the veil
to better see
her lovely face.

Controlling tides
and turning weary
hearts to love
the moon appears
so very close but she
is distant
bright and lovely
impossible
to touch.

Himself

Gazing across
the water
at something grey
and undefined
he scribbled words
into a book.

Words were
the thing he could
control
when the rest of life
seemed immersed
in confusion.

This book.
His words.
Himself.