Angels alight, a slight, feathery goodnight kiss,

behind her eyes a guardian angel sighs.

The whisperer lies behind the song,

A misfortune in thought is exorcised:

close harmonies, fugues coalesce when

nothing’s wrong.

A song in a minor key, a longing to be whole and free,

And to roll away the stone from me.

 

On this seafront there is an old flat stone,

where, in the creamy moonlight of a raggedy romance,

men and women pledge,

and men and women dance,

under the moon

in a place where a single ghost abides…

inside my star-crossed eyes.

 

Owls screech their ageless, endless cries

to a high, star-cluttered sky.

It is a place where all our dreams come true,

moonstruck eyes and derring-do,

we flee into the glassy sea,

echoing the old, old story,

whisper it soundlessly,

enriched by such and such

wild sprigs of poetry.