the sickle moon and her reflection
like upside down brackets
on an empty page
hold nothing between them
but the moon wants to unite with
her elusive appearance
in the glassy stream
then, baffled like a child
who cannot grab his own image
gradually wanes into the ebon night
grasping at shadows
how much of precious life we lose
cursing the darkness with back
turned towards the light —
how will the brilliance reveal itself
when we are forever looking
out and away with blinders on?
