I gaze up the the moon who spies
the universe, upon the seen and the unseen.
The night is deep, the dim from a street lamp slides
into the room, filling this scene
of longing with lights, increasing by and by.
A breeze through an opening of a window carries the scent
of early fall and of reminiscence to my
Nose. On it, a heart is sent
to be delivered to another that awaits it.
A wordless message that speaks louder than many,
and I will not write or speak of that which wastes it.
To wait is to yearn. To word, to speak any.
O, the sweetness of sometimes being alone.
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