The Heathen Moonlight Comes Poem by Patti Masterman

The heathen moonlight comes
To the windows, begging alms;
Like the light in her eyes, to calm
(and ask for whatevers crumbs)

Moonlight pines for what
It can ill define, for naught-
As twin souls catching fire,
(While straining for a star)

If moonlight it could weep
It would drip round crystals down
Of frozen flame, almost pink-
(Where the splintered clouds must drown)

If moonlight it could crave
It would somehow learn to hide
Like a ghost keeps to the shade
Where late lovers took their walk

(And like a fiery shadow, stalk
Where the sun but once, he laid)
Eating dust, where the darkness preens-
(and listen what the wind has seen..)