Over this past week, the monsoon winds and rain have finally arrived. But thus far no poems have come of it. Instead I have yet another look at the moon and her comings and goings.
Return
Stepping along the unseen roads of night,
The moon looks down as one who leaves awhile,
And shyly, softly, smiles a slow sad smile.
All golden is she, and her brow is bright,
And she is wrapped in gold that is alight.
And yet she lingers while the nights beguile
Her with their summer pleasures, the descrial
Of waters where her face looks upward, slight
Amid the silver. Still she lingers here,
And when her course leads onward, still she yearns
To glance among the bushes, stay and peer
Amid the mountain rocks that flicker, burn
With her old gentle gold. Amid the sere
Far skies, she ever sighs to make return.