The moon and I know a little secret
But you won’t come to me and
I cannot go any further
Dog symphonies staccato the landscape,
while lawns are trimmed
and chickens call to rest.
Tonite the quiet rules, and
moon makes magic while I sleep.
Years turn into melodies
dancing dreams that once I held close.
Subjective sentences tell me
they never happened.
All is new, as if
it never was.
The mouse never wavers, but waits at the door, hungry for
the touch of turmoil that will set his heart ablaze.
You are the mouse…. You are the door…. You are the turmoil.
Watch that you know whence it comes.
It must be wonderful to have a tail…
to issue comments from the back of me…
and wave away irritation.
To send tidings of trust….
and messages of wisdom to the stars.