Evening Song - December 17, 2001

Every night 
the world is undone
winding out in a ribbon of inky darkness.

In the pale moonbeams
a forest of limbs
dances a ghostly turn,
shimmering with the snowflakes
from the morn.

A silver ribbon 
runs through the path,
sparkling under the
chiaroscuro of earth
and water.

The last of the white lilies
float along with our eyes
as we wend our way
through the subtle
pleasures of light and dark,
hard and soft,
here and there.

The floating lights on
the rivers edge beckons
to the traveler to chance
a crossing against rough waters.