Why the night is bittersweet.

There is a reason
Why the night is bittersweet.
For all the company,
Of stars and starlight,
The moon stands alone.


If you hearken to night,
And lay your heart,
Before her dark bowers,
You will find
The gossamer quietness
Of other dreams.
You will breathe in clean dark
That harsh sunlight bespoils
And the soothing balm
Of moonlight,
If the moon be awake.
Your heart will find a bed
Of whispering leaves,
And gentle pillows of the world’s sleep.
But you will partake of all this


The creatures of the night
Aren’t fit for company.
The owl swoops alone
On its nocturnal flight.
The bat finds his way,
Blind and alone.
Visions cannot be seen,
In the harsh sunlight,
Of company,
Nor can understanding
Sink into the mind,
In a busy embrace;
That is the condition
Of being able to speak
To Night;
She allows the rarest
Of the rare
To lie awake
In her tenebrous
Magnificence –
They deal with knowing –
Make peace with seeing –
By living alone.



The fruit has ripened.
But it hangs high on the tree.
It will ripen further and die,

The sun will hit it hard.
The moon will not help at all.
The best thing for it to do is

Birds may help it perhaps,
Maybe a strong breeze,
A god may help, if it says

Knowing providence though,
It’s more likely to hang and rot,
It’s one of those things that love just

It does look tasty and juicy,
But it’s so very, very high,
I might as well give up before I


He shimmered turquoise,
With an iridescent white,
Scales glistening, fins flaring,
Like an array of starlight.

From a small half-foot deep bowl
To one o’er a foot in height,
He journeyed through strange waters,
In almost surreal flight.

Now he lies, all cut and spent,
From human neglect and slight,
From hot to cold, cold to hot,
He loved to prove he could fight.

He shimmered, just days past, in a vast tank:
The Lord of All, sparkling amethyst delight –
He lies, chalk white, on his side, in a bowl,
But won’t go gentle into that good night.