.

It is on silent nights like these

That I revel into myself deeply

Opening to the world’s soft breeze

Ever so gently, ever so simply,

I swallow the ethers and her light frame

Engulfing every possible

Attempting to make my delicate claim

With no knowledge of sensible,

Sadly, in the end, ’tis morning

And its pale knight which catches up always

Happily to my eyes, mourning,

In pines of winter, in the long summer,

Dawn is the lady moon who sways

– Siren – the rough tides around my drummer.

.

To she whom the wise goddess hold in her palm.