Lying  in a soft Kansas  meadow
with my dog and the  cows close
by under a diamond studded
sky  on  a  cold  winter  night
vibrating  with magic,  I read
your story written in the stars.

Marveling  at  the  full  moon
I  see your face looking at me,
your moonbeam eyes reading
my  innermost  being  like an
open book.

One  soul  we  are  in  many
different manifestations looking
down on earth with compassionate
moonbeam eyes.

But  I  like the  one where you
are sitting on a rock and a
hundred times you brush your
hair, a golden wave flowing to
your hips, as you long for my
gentle touch.
                                                          ­                                  Jon York   2025