Night Moves

 

Trickle down (the stars do)

In a champagne-flute of navy blue.

Tiny crystal bubbles -- all our dreams --

Like disillusioned troubles, brightly seem

to disappear in beauty,

in all we see.

 

The feathered wings flutter (of the moon)

in a beam of icy warmth, too soon

removed from Paradise;

Flown down and taken twice

through galaxies foreign to our eyes –

That is where the moonbeam flies.

 

Night is still?  I think not so!

Our eyes may not see where she goes,

But she is dancing, fast and free –

her horses prancing, so lovely.

She is the Beauty, and so she will stay –

For Night moves in mysterious ways.