the moon’s sacristy,
where nature dons its vestments
for summer’s service,
and mournful cicadas chant
of eternal recurrence
reflections on the water
that pull the moonlight longer
like small things that we
turn grander by distortion
then live to watch fade
She sometimes hears her father’s voice
That faded far too soon –
It tells her not to be afraid,
But that her friend, the moon
Is there to watch her when he’s gone.
But he’s been gone for years:
And all the moonlight sees tonight
Are memories
And tears
Love tbis.