the moon follows
with its silver hook

a fish in the water
swimming through
the debris --

when i am in the avenue,
  it sleuths in similar pace,
its nearing blear
   in my window.
its distance
   in the thoroughfare.
  it shines its
  white face, presses its
  luminescent hands
   the size of two worlds against
   a jungle of fraternized lamps
   stealing all light
   creating the dark's progeny:
      a shadow enters frame.

only the mellow moon
knows the loneliness of
my melody.
the wound of my tempo.
and sometimes it sings to me
through the embellished amaranth
of starless sky: its dull crescent,
dips its voice into my being
   creating ripples.

and through all worlds witnessing
  its tight clutch in the distance,
  choking all that is lost and
  sends it back to its
  origin, is i and the moon.
  our secret entreaty in all
  the windows of the world,
  gazing at each other,
  romancing pains.