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.