Silver tongued, moon's overspill enlightens
leaves, eclipses dizzy rise of moments
in night's word fall. Clarity is rare moonfruit,
ripe and gathered, ready to burst time.
"Put sleep aside," she says, "stand in the
centre of my pristine silence." Ivy
snakes the dark high wall, scales alighting
dreams, clinging to night's edge.
*image: Denise Wey
