Angels alight, a slight, feathery goodnight kiss,
behind her eyes her guardian angel sighs.
Listen! to the whisperer behind the song,
misfortune exorcised by fluttering fugues
that sing a song in a minor key,
a longing to be whole and free.
On this seafront there is a stone,
where, in the creamy moonlight of romance,
men and women pledge and dance,
under our lady moon.
It is a place where ghosts abide
owls screech their ageless, endless cries
to a high, star-cluttered sky.
Yes! it is a place where all our dreams come true,
moonstruck eyes and derring-do,
as we flee into the turbulent sea,
echoing that old, old story,
whispered to us soundlessly,
enriched by such and such
wild sprigs of poetry,
we travel to that land of lost content,
before the veil of the temple
was rent in two,
before the holy of holies.
was made a-new.