Waiting for the Moon

The sun's path, inexpressible ecstasy,
a lattice work of clouds
lies in sun kissed departure;
one, that resembles a giant bird,
flies to the east
leaving the others behind.

The trees become crisply cut stencils,
paletted in dark shades of thalo,
painted against the light holding sky,
delineating my heaven and earth,
hiding the horizon.

and as phrases bounced from mind to pen to paper,
I thought about you,
and was quiet.

Days fall continued sans observation,
security lights lit, solars glowed,
lightning bugs mimicked technology;
dogs barked far away.

in an instant
it becomes too dark to write,
futile scan of the sky,
then remember the night two days past
when the moon was Artimis
over the hill to the south
clothed in sheer robes
of celestial cloth,
reclining on a blue bed, satisfied,
torn sheets around her supine form,
salvaged,
from the thunderous orgy of copulation,
at the hands of still unsatisfied lovers
going down in the west.

Full dark now
she peeks over a towel of trees,
teasing me with a glimpse of flesh,
then drops all pretense and rises
to greet a star that's not a star
shining above;
and I am silent again my love.