I wax and wane like the motions of a milky moon,
careened in the light’s creamy and ardent ambitions
toward her cached memory, a shroud of peace kept with me,
a moment when we walked under the same chalky liquid drops,
like the white water offered from oceans, I cycle through sky,
returned to my memory by destined wind, I always float to her,
the day when we stood in the shallow pine white brook,
and seeing her eyes see mine, and the lightning storm
that night when we tried to fall asleep in separate stories.