(from L’Oubliette, or Plan A)
The moon is made of milk tonight…
will you reflect on me
when she is rising mid-November?
I’ll be the breeze, caressing breeze
slipping through your shining hair;
I’ll be the tide, recurrent tide
up and in and everywhere
I’ll be the night’s candescent light
to bathe you in nocturnal glow,
I’ll till you till you are fulfilled,
a quarter million miles below
Or when you’re in a foreign land,
hand-in-hand with wanderlust:
I’ll be a silver sleeve of moonbeams
to shower you in dreamdance dust
or if you ever need to be reminded
that you are loved from afar
the moon is made of milk tonight
and I am wishing on a star
