It Rises

A sudden clear picture of another soul sits at the core of this short poem

Night doesn’t fall here;

It rises.

There’s a place near your door

Where moonlight touches

A water cascade.

You have such a soft, simple, smile;

Like rocks teased by aeons of

A silvery stream’s lazy intention.

We’re the night now.

Our eyes are stars,

Supping on moon-milk,

And sparkling like diamonds,

Made in the heat of far planets’ cores.

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