When I looked up I knew the moon,
Just as if it asked me to.
This simple orb string spun of glass,
The eye inside a photograph.
And in my den I dumbly stood,
Smelling every scent from childhood.
The crisp air from a leaf orange pile,
The nectar floods in apple aisles.
I looked again and saw the sun,
A symbol for work to be done.
A time to set aside these thoughts,
I’ll burn the wick, I’ll burn it hot.
Return to sill after the day,
To find the clouds clouding the way.
A loon I long the moon to see,
The dream I find’s indifferent to me.
Seasinks
acraein 
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