Moonrise
when the sun should sink
and the dry desert cry would ring
through the night
and you will soar
You will soar,
as if the wind must ask
of more
And a cracked tulip may shrivel
from the rasped breath
of your flight
Yet, it's you alone in your might.
And none would know of
your plight,
none other than the moon.
That laughing moon....
If only to pluck it out with talon-ed finger...
But you, with clever eye,
will see that so long as your sole arch
carves the sky
perhaps could quake even the shadowed backs of devils below and
still
always
you will soar
Night glider, sing
Sink, or take wing
Dry wind on feather
Earth and bird, together