The yellow moon, large and low,
Illum's the room, and your face,
Reveals the subtle flutter
Of your closed eyes.
Of what do you dream?
Faint breathy gasps escape those lips,
Murmurs of joys and fears,
And a voice less loud soughs
A single word made a secret to unfold.
Of whom is your vision?
You with radiant beams the heavens adorn,
In endless dance you move. In more ways than one
I'm martyred to a motion not my own -
The shapes a bright container holds.
Where are you tonight?
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