daring a flawed moon

to shrink above naked trees

I find melancholy riding

in the songs of late hours

with a pallid light

longing for much more

than cycles and skulls bouncing

on the surface of

a full stop

a pale dance above the trees

a silvery silence of boughs

slow in frosty nights

a crackling sound

water turns to ice

tarnished darkness tattered

blue with fallen skies

is finally taken

by silent voice rising

a rift in time

a tip of the hat

solar clocks that

evenings will abridge

in a long summary gone

with dark grinding

of forgotten bones

toys sea salt

and the kind of a sermon

birds wait for