30. Your White Shadow

Last night under a huge sky
I stepped outside and peering upwards
saw you float silently past,
in the white and silent shape of an owl,
eyes glittering with moon dust,
seeing me, and not seeing me.

You are a seeded sphere of life tumbling on the moon’s breath,
a silent incantation as you pass me by
casting your white shadow against my black darkness.

I am entranced by the beauty of your form.

Your dandelion clock counts imaginary hours
but each one is registered in a living breath
as if there is some sense in that childish tally.
And always I am entranced by the beauty of the form.

Last night under a huge sky I stepped outside
and peering upwards saw you sail silently past
in the white and threatening shape of an owl,
eyes glittering with moon dust,
seeing me, and seeing me too well.

This morning you are gone
like fingerprints on a river.
It is hard to gather you as evidence.
I have looked for moon dust
but all I find is empty bottles.
You will say they are mine.

Last night under a huge sky
I stepped outside and peered upwards
You floated silently past,
in the white and silent shape of an owl,
eyes glittering with moon dust,
seeing me, and not seeing me at all.