the moon through pine trees
In the sun you do not see me,
standing where your shadow falls
In the night you cannot hear me
although in silence blackness calls.
In the darkness, see the starlight
not visible in day
and in the realm of opal moonlight
rest you – by the window stay.
A fool is what people would call me
a master of deceit and lie
as real as your blackest nightmares
only gentler come whistling by.
In the breeze my weak flame sputters
casting dark, on dark, the night:
but in the gloom can stand – aphotic
so that you can see the light.
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