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.