Lady in Moonlight
I watch the moonlight
in my mind,
It's pale lambent haze spreading silver
Over my muddled, erratic thoughts.
Images come and go,
pale and wispy In the soft moon-glow.
The pictures out of
Old photographs which have faded
And misted, like early morning fog.
I sense a meaning - an image sharpening itself
And I try to grasp its sense.
It is important that
I hold this one frame
But it is elusive, fragile, ethereal,
And like incense smoke, disappears
Leaving behind a haunting essence of its true self.
Why is thought like
Mainly hidden, whitely shining,
her essence desired, but rarely fully seen.
Perhaps because she is in reality utter desolation,
And like the moon, beautiful but remote.