by Aidan Chivers
The sleepless moonlight dusts the tops of trees,
And tastes a calming scent upon my lips
Which curls around my outstretched fingertips
And drifts, like fleeing dreams, along the breeze.
From dusky monochrome I turn away –
I step inside, try in the darkness not to choke,
And seek within this blacker, thicker smoke
Shapes half-remembered from the light of day.
A suppliant to days now passed, I clutch
Each fleeing form which hides within these walls
And feels its way through time’s well-trodden mind;
The corridors of loss evade my touch
And deep within the years, a spectre calls
For smoky moons and stars it left behind.