Quarter Moon


Briefly she was gone, only to rise
half-shy against the inky night,
casting her shine upon his nape,
one glimmer at a time, his true shape.


She's here each night and always,
though tonight she is half-gone.
And here she'll stay in solace
be she full or crescent, be she none.


His voice reminds her of home, tender
behind eyes closed and all darkness.
Sweeter than music, slow to surrender,
he is warm substance, a soul ageless.

// 26 Jun 2019