"...PEN DIPPED IN SUNSHINE..."

All afternoon the ghost
of a daytime moon

follows us
around

wondering what
us humans get up to?

Sark unfolds itself
treasure by treasure

delighting in itself
and we in it.

The sun
immerses itself in a sea.

We watch its ablutions.

And now the Plough
hangs in the sky

poised in pristine
perfection

as if each star could be
plucked from its constellation

taken home
in the mind.

The moon guarding the house.

The sleepers dreaming.