Bone moon

Hand of blood and bone
         picks roses primroses
things of perfection
         things of time

Simple passing
         back and forth
of banter
         of bonded bodies
that separate
         that slip
in and out
         of sleep

On moon nights
         the silence
of starlight
         at daybreak
doves cooing
        and later thrush
and sparrow
         and eventual
magpies robins
         crows

Last night
         the interminable
chatter of foxes
         shooting the breeze
survival a way of life
         for them

Effortless love
         that slips in and out
of silence
         words couched
in tireless
         gestures

Her lips closed
         she sleeps on
while he observes
         the coruscations
of time
         experience comes
at a price always
         worth paying

John Lyons