I'll never find you
over a crescent hill
you disappear
on your way
to make an unfathomable escape
in infant time
a spruce in the cradled divine, "world"
too vast and blue
in time naturally
you succumb to you
as eyes give way to tears
that plumply fall where pain is due
where in your departure
we find ourselves reserved to solitude
as the freckled light
impedes on the corners of my room
I stare, I stare
and wish too much of the sickled moon
To the audience of stars
and those celestial few
I beg, bring me atop that crescent hill
no longer till I say my dues
and see my grandmother along
that is all I ask, of the fair moon
grant a living wish
let my swollen eyes view
her soundest departure
then no longer
will I intrude.