The moon is swollen full tonight,
her belly stretched out in the light;
that glow ascribed to pregnant maids
reflects down through the tall pines' shade
and with a wash of purple blue
includes the woods' edge in my view.
There in the timid shadows where
the evening breeze parts leaves like hair
a scent of cedar, oak and gum
plays softly as a guitar strummed
against the senses, soft and low,
as limbs brush gently to and fro.
Against the lunar silhouettes
played out along the low slung fence
the moonlight dances, shy and meek,
as if it would, should someone speak,
retreat back to the forest wall
and act as if not there at all.
16 OCT 2005
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