The night coats the rim of the moon with its cloak. The night pours its lush scent into the secret indentations of the trees, Into the carnal world of darkened bark.
The night lives in the scent of its admirers, Those admirers who pour into its blackness, Who come covered in oils so rich in fragrance that they ooze the carnality of the trees, of the night, of the moon.
Oh radiant moon, find me this night and cover me in the softness of your down, That I may scent you in my dreams and sight you in my eyes.
In this tableau you have become one with the trees,
there is no seperation,that might make a distinction
between you and they..and so entraced, engaged
with them in the metaphysical..
a child results from that joining,
a child of words,
this beautiful poem.
Anyone who might have ventured into a patch of wilderness on a moonlit night knows exactly what you have described here so iridescently. The paleness of down from the vividness of the moonbeams. The smell of the night, as it permeates all within it's wakened grasp. . . . you portray the experience so well, that I felt as if I were there again. Great work!
I am so happy to be writing! I was an attorney in my previous incarnation. These days, I teach voice mostly, write some and do a little psychotherapy. It seems like a good combination for me.
I h.. more..