Have you ever watched the moon linger at
Apogee, its unobtainable beauty
Privy to the sharp tongue of every would-be
Poet that dares to mingle with the cosmos, its
Yonderly glow, ensnared by the trappings of a distant pine?

Alas, such is the futility of grasping love, its true
Nature, a malleable enigma for the heart to discern: the
Notion of small eternities chipping away the
Impregnable granite, leaving sentiment in its place,
Vitreous in the waning light of sunset.

Earth dons its gainly, evening cloak, the
Rare tenderness of twilight but a
Simple change in venue,
As the obsidian sky, still looming and
Rich with the bold confessions of
Young love, grown wiser with passing time.