In the greying mist, battle rages

‘Tween the sun and moon

Locked in their matrimony war;

It is the evening star-child

Who gauges the raindrop

Tears slipping from the poor

Loser of such a fight twisted

Around each blinking beacon,

No more a message of hope

Than the morning. It’s peeking

When the daylight is over;

How audacious the golden Queen

Dares to be! With her memorandum

Of the sight in the sky,

She can command up any insomnia

Into bloodstained light.

The King of the night,

Though he is passed by,

Might still dare to come into flight,

Above our trees and our bushes,

Plains of emerald and jade,

Turned silver with blue,

So as not to fade,

When he has to hide in the couple’s

Cosmic encounter and horizon fight.

Nymphs of the moon,

And those comets, too,

You call upon them with your grace,

There’s a ring left behind-

Gold circlet ever turning-

As it reflects the concern on your face.

I am here in our garden,

With its dells and its peaks,

And the twittering, bickering skyline;

One hand as your angel protector,

Another left stray to beckon

The alirium of the pleasant day,

And the opposing, exciting eyeline.

What is beyond the prophetic

Touch of the dreamer

Whose heart is here foretelling?

Is it the lick of the emerised crust

As the earth to her is unfurling?

Its body silk of the lustre beyond,

All the sequins the midnight canvas

Enclosed in a dream

Of amorous supposition

From the night and the day;

Where your position may

Not even be where we think, in this dawn,

The highlights of the queen

Returning to seem

More ridiculous than before.

Do not dwell on bad memories,

You must put them to sleep,

As your own body settles,

Into the visionless deep.

Stretch your head across

The mounds of earth,

Lay your heart freely into place,

Hear the simmer of the rush

Of the brook below the bridge

As it hurries to its own bed-space.

The End

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