A Quill Pen on the Moon

The planets fled sight.

So did the twinkling stars.

But clouds converged still,

Ominously black,

In the abysmal nightscape.

Wind lamented grief

At the nothingness.

So like I dipped beneath it,

The inky sky there,

But above me

Is where drapes of void hung limp.

I don’t doubt at all

That ashen white crows

Soared united in quiet,

Because I sometimes

Caught glimpses of ghosts

Like rippling shadow sheets

Where the moon once sat.

~

But as the sun rose,

Gleefully sharing its rays,

Stubborn clouds did part,

And the sky turned blue;

So clear and deep to mirror

A clean riverbed,

Its polished stones naked there,

Unabashed in view

Of admiration.

That is what this sky was like—

Surreal majesty!

Yes, glassy water.