The crescent moon be my perch.
        A bough from which I extend my arm.
Careful fingers grasp my brush...
And with it I shall fill the void
with the universe.                

               The crescent moon be my hammock.
Upon which I lean fully into,
to seek restful recluse.                
Should my body start to buckle...
        From the heavy hopes of wistful eyes.

   The crescent moon be my anchor.
From which I draw                
my inspiration and strength.
                   She would cradle and sway me gentle...
      When wilting hearts spill unto me
the callous wiles of the world.    

The crescent moon be my well.        
A fount through which my palette        
remains full with an                                 
abundant array of silvery white.        

Just so...                                 
I could conjure for others,
       what their hearts so desire.

Just so...                      
I could grant them       
             needed solace and tranquillity.

Just so...                 
                          I could infinitely paint for them
the stars...

I reach for your core of warmth
in musings and dreams.

They lift me lightly into your keeping.

Large loads float by, weightless,
after reading your verses.

Hurts melt in the heat of your words
and become no more a burden.

Holding you soul-close my spirit survives.

Time cannot enliven me
like warm phrasing and rhyme.

If this be love then love transforms parting.

Breathe then your gold, dear friend,
pen it over my heart.