Awoken
The moon awoke me
howling for attention
the stars were distant, aloof
a few gregarious, Gregorian twinkles
made celesta accompaniment
lunar fugue
a chorus of seas
echo of my cathedrals
trumpets and choirs
the organist’s foot pedals
faster than tap
Did the moon not wake you?
No tom toms, no Tchaikovsky cannons?
Oh your serene dreams of a
more melodious siren
That is why I love you
listening to the moon in your eyes
— Ry Southard
