I watch and stand

and let a passing cloud

hit by moonlight

make a rimmed spectacle

of a distant want.

 

I shift my weight and

blink

and recall wordless

feelings before

putting into words

those useless

aphorisms.

 

It's the words,

with their wanton

un-mouthed ache,

that bleat silently

against the ear

tangle those

as yet un-marked

and un-surveyed

desires.

Their cerebral

obliterating duster,

transforming an

ancient passion
into a smudge. 

 

I blink again and return 

to my frosted gate

pausing to catch

a reflection

of the nearly moon

break free from

the hiding clouds-

and for an instant

my feelings, 

unwritten,

unspoken,

return.