Silvered Shards of Moon,

giphy (1).gifThe pillow of a drifting moon, polished with dusts of dying stars,

Opened an ivory eye and glimpsed the inky sheen

Of night’s dreaming mind, woven through the firs,

Branches dipped under the diamond-gleam

Of their heavy cloaks, as winds unsheathed bladed

Breaths, lulling shadows, tired of shade,

 

To slunk, heavy of limb and line, staining light

With delicate dabs of darkness, smudging smokey

Mists with furnace-black fissures: Mother Night,

Reigned in her regal radiance; blinking brightly,

Amongst the leaf-litter, and the scent of sodden wood

Soaking into our brittle bones: white wands of childhood,

 

And wandering winds spiral night’s white dreams

To glow within the gloom of summer’s tomb,

Someday to rise again; russet, rose, with rusted beams

Slanting through silvered shards of moon,

To sharpen tracks threaded in memories of snow,

Like each life we’re given: brief, yet, if we wish; dipped in gold.

 

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