A sliver of a moon highlights
the stone house on the hill
full of young people, rushing
hither and thither, a cascade
of sound, a weekend of laughter,
a blaze of eyes. No disguise
so many discriminations:
of face, of education, of class.
We knew it couldn’t last.

I retreated for forty years or more
but I always knew I’d come back
to settle this musical score
moonbeams on youth
at a time of hoar frost
lovers tossed on this bonfire of the vanities
amid the wonder of days.