Moment
quick upon the night there comes a wind
whistling among whimsical bare willows,
blowing tunes around the reedy cattails,
dancing with the dry and nestled leaves.
silver clouds hasten across the smiling
Cheshire face of the moon, shining pale
from a velvet sky smooth as licorice ice.
a puff cools your face, arouses the blood
into your cheeks, then it’s playfully gone
as if an angel’s touched your melancholy.
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