I wrote the moon a letter
To show my affection for
Her past graces, like when
She blushed that late September
Evening as though we both knew
A secret love had been born.
Or when she winked through clouds
Blowing in with that July storm,
As the wind torn at your hair
Whipping sand along the shore as
So many angry bees against our legs.
I can confide to the mother moon
As to the state of my lost mind
Turned inside out by words and turns
On phrases, turned over and over
Until but shadows remain of orignal
Thought. Artists are mercurial to be
Sure, lost among the living, walking
Around inside out, as if living
Negatives – the dark lit and the lit
So very, very dark.
Yes, I wrote the moon a letter and
Sealed it with my kiss, perfuming
The envelop by gentle mist of peony
Blossoms; a love letter then, I suppose
And mailed it on the wings of Pegasus.