unto the new moon

swishing foot,

twirling in shadow

shaded in by some high rise and

blurred by the gleam of a stall;

light scattered by a still puddle.

a step past another,

an antiparallel twirl,

summoning forth past

through inexorable rifts:

a once endeavored jaunt in dreary rain.

a soaked, red, wooden bench,

paint chipped and wood frayed,

worn apart in threaded lines

under a dripping tree on a dark, cloudy evening;

maple seeds adrift,

damp in the rain,

their silhouettes spiralling

as wind chimes somehow twinkle persistently

in a happenstance harmony with the patter of rain

under a gray blue cloudy sky-

in the streaming grayed blue

a new wrinkle forms between wet threads,

torn apart through droplets of dull sunshine.

now anew in old,

bathed in blinding faded lights;

wrenching nostalgia,

on a field of wind whipped grass,

awash in rosy filtered evening sun;

melancholy of times thought unhad but

somehow known had in some

tangential, parallel form

tripping over nothing,

falling through the bottom of the sheets-

those rapidly undulating, ephemeral, thready sheets-

sinking momentarily, peacefully, perfectly;

ether, water, drained through a dark deep vent,

sucked and siphoned away

back into midnight of some city

world spinning

you, spinning

something natural,

an unfathomable moment,

an altogether opaque moment

feet swish,

head sways and dips

rain and sunshine

phasing through stars and midnight

in fluttering,

sparse,

threadbare sheets,

a lens blowing throughout,

precipitated,

crystallized, even,

within the moment

itself.

under a waning moon

born of midnight sun;

unto the new moon

beside memories of ancient stars

alongside visages new and fusing.