over free and fumbling shapes,
the moon,
my goddess,
flies.
periwinkle light cradles,
until theres naught but star twinkle,
far but many,
only stars,
to guide her path.
the sky looks very lonely tonight,
no one to shine for,
no one to wink at.
I would not be suprised to wake up,
tomorrow in the evening,
to find that she, o glory of the night,
had died of heartbreak.
