When life
becomes a vagrant
and death
an unsung train
there you will find me
oozing notes into night's horn
moon-beams drenched
with midnight's blues

rattle, ripple, shake
distorted city light
dancing barefoot
on crescent waves

I ponder,
        wander,
                    wait.

to reflect
upon reflections
- as the moon,
in her wistful way,
seeps sonatas
of wayward days

and in the distant dissonance
of constant consonance

She, too,
waits.