SILVER STEPS

the moon
throws itself

into puddle after puddle
so that we may tiptoe

across on its back.

It bows as if it were
a Sir Walter Raleigh

before returning to the skies
to rhyme with June!

although now
it is deep mid-winter

& so the sliver steps
will freeze to mirrors

our breath
a cloud of laughter & words

dancing in front of
our smiles

we chatting in
speech balloons

this moment then
sculpted from perfection

you put a mittened
hand in mine

& we hum some song
we only half remember.