O hollow moon
with its empty belly,
hooked on a crisp sunset,
the thin slice of the cycle
that leads from famine to feast,
where are you when I need you?
The light of night a token throe
and woken from the bright, unspoken space
to face red curtains
that rain down the dusky serge.
On the verge of this violet canopy
weeping through to morning,
down to the dawn where the heart stops
down to the day,
down and down again.
remember me when you return,
tracing the arc through angels’ lair,
and there and there again
I see you spying from the Tower of Wisdom.
Let us be silent in Your honour!
Let us make no moor unlit
nor lightless in its triumph of the skies,
nor weakening in its waxy sheen
to wane in wandering woes.
I am the cowherd calling from his shed.
You were there at the first of days,
when you rose alongside Him
who devoured all the glory
when the story was yours
in a subtlety of evenings.
Lest we forget!
Lest we succumb to noons!
Lest your Name be never heard!