Falling leaves hurry to gather
at one worn headstone after another
like a funeral party uncertain where
lies the lost loved one it grieves;;

Time and wind tug on the memory
left in this absent minded cemetery
no one comes visit but weather and me
and the dead lying under the trees

have stories nobody can read.

That was the end
of her holy affair,

when she knelt, out of habit
and felt fresh air

finding the gaps
where her gods once were

like light finds the edge of a door
when it's not shut so tight as before..

I once found the moon in a forest
of fir two hundred foot tall,
it's face being lovingly polished
by fish in a silver pool,

the water was deep like a riddle,
as dark underneath as the pine,
I swam like a thief to the middle
but that slippery silver
                        refused to be mine.

She opens a window
and hopes for the sky
to fall in from outside
and it's tailwind bring

her the moon and the clouds
lined with silver, a crowd
of the finest of stars
and a spare pair of wings..