Solitude in standing,
bathed in harvest’s milky moon,
hallowed by the moment caught,
suspended midst the stars, in tune.
What sparkles call him to this ledge?
What questions form within his head?
How long will starlight hold his heart until he purrs to bed?
No matter what the fatter waxing of a perfect night,
the moon, within the edge of room, spills thick its milky white.
Beyond the distant clatter of alley’s trash cans hunting din,
above the howling love songs, sick, repeated, moaned, again, again,
no greater pleasure drifts his way than this, one perfect poignant perch,
where past the moon, ‘twixt stardust seams, his simple pleasured dreams do search.
photo artwork by Kasia Derwinska