Angel of the Waning Moon
My body wanes and is distorted.
Smoke moves all around me (troublesome clouds),
and it's as if I cease to exist.
I blink in and out of time and wonder if I can still be seen,
when the light-of-seeing is denied even to me.
Do you still whisper at dusk, or cry out for me at midnight?
Do you still reach to pull yourself up into my light...?
Or do you ebb as I wane?
As if in response to my tired calls,
a wave crashes,
sounding out the end and beginning of dreaming.
Then a song pours out over the ocean,
pulling me close and scattering my light,
little as it is.
I pull myself deeper into the hood of night,
feeling your fingers pulling at the edge of my mind.
I am now content to wait,
here in the dark.