Returning

The moonbeams that taunt me

With false day, false hope,

Do not tremble at my step.

They do not fear my worship,

My moondance.

But so does the world resist my hymn.

After so long without the music

Of my prayer, my praise

Echoing between strokes of green

And strokes of blue,

And the shadow of my touch

Cooling the glade for dawn,

It fears not my absence,

Apparently accustomed,

But my return.

The reversal of the poles by the very wink

That once turned the tides against themselves

And spoiled the sky unto her drinkers.

But I have returned. And

My submission is unlimited.

I have settled between clouds,

And my song will be delivered.

At first reflected off the hard earth

Maybe.

But soon swept up in the voice of day:

The whimpering yawns of morning

The honey hum of late afternoon

And the deep, cascading sigh of dusk.