Song to the Moon

In the blue-silver light
of a moon – sorely
missed these last
few nights, I think
of you.

Frost like glitter-dust
sparkles on the grass
and the dark trees beckon.

In my mind I see you
on the swing – your shirt
flaring open like the wings
of great, white heron.

I know you have not left,
it is some part of me
that is missing. Curtains
drift in the breeze
of my open window;

the light that was you
shines through them.
So alive again to me
I see your face.
‘Our truest life
is when we are,
in dreams,
awake.’