The moment is elusive as old verse.
Music only suggests its fragile self.
Moon drops fall beautiful upon bare panes
The chill dances through labyrinths of trees.
The ancient loveliness of autumn's lamp
patterns the night like lace on humankind.
You promise me the mood will never end.
Smoke swirls through stanzas of infinity.
Copyright,2008, Sandra Fowler
Wednesday, September 10, 2008