On this day, the sun set in the west.

I cried for the death of light –

craved the waxing moon

beacon of quiet dreaming,

yet it was a waning crescent,

like my tearful heart

yearning for the next full moon.

Its ivory face shone through my window,

beaming brilliance

its sea smiling,

perhaps the eyes of a living being

or an apparition

revolving across the sky,

until its sunrise death.

Sandra