The moonlight passes through
foggy mist in an avalanche;
creeping tendrils hold balance
with the warmer air below.

I wash, in circles, the light from my face
with great scooping armfuls
of blissfully animated space.

Arms held, rounded.
Not held, rather perched,
effortlessly bending this warmth

slowly gathering around my core.
A tingle of sensation;
a signal of joy --

a standing ovation from my senses,
congratulating me for paying attention.