Moon, blow your light
my way, but don't cut my time
Let me dream just a little longer
while my eyelids shine
in the dark starlight
Let the ceremony end slow
back in my old home,
not in a cold forest near the sea
I want to see again
those three rivers that flow
together and listen to a woman
singing to a child
in her mild mannered way
But in spite of the night
and my wishes
something keeps creeping
past me in my sleep
like numbers of smoke
It was you, dark woman,
walking across the room bare
footed turning on the air conditioner
in the winter, a pair of scissors
in the folds of your robe.