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as storm fades into light
the winds and waters still
and I pass from the shadow;
confounded by the silver moon
halted at the edge of dream
calm—my fingers sleep.

I cannot help but sleep.
caught in the light—
the peace after the storm’s dream
silences my fingers—still
and puzzled beneath the radiant moon.
I can’t see to the shadow—

but I need shadow.
I shouldn’t be drugged into motionless sleep
while storm-clouds shape the moon;
for in the brightest light
the darkest shadows live—and so, still
in my bewildered calm—I dream

a moving dream
rushing at the crest of the blackest shadow
where nothing is still,
and black waves of sleep
shine with the storms light
clear and frenzied in the light of a shadow moon.

thrilled, I write the moon.
I carve my senses’ dream
the thunderings of light
the miracles of shadow
the lifetimes without sleep
my heart cannot be still.

my fingers never still
beneath the storm-lit moon;
I cannot know the luxury of sleep
I am nothing but a nightmare’s dream
a shadow’s hollow shadow
fading into light—

and who can be still when such a dream
brings storm? while moon beams sharpen every shadow
I flee from sleep—obscured and veiled in light—