Monday 13 February 2012

command the sky


The moon stole my breath tonight, though I would just as gladly have given it.   Hung so low and large, shepherd to the stars.  Commanding the sky be still.  His dimples and defects tell of the battles fought and won. Of times long past.  I wished to sit and listen to tales of the things he had seen, with no regard for the ties I had made with the day.  But now to sleep, I will offer up my breath soon again.