To Sleep, Perhaps

Sometimes the moon appears,
and its presence— forbidding ignorance—perches lazily there in the northwest corner of my window, fractured into slits partially blinding both dreamers and onlookers alike.

It intrudes on our space,
assuming a newly acquired role of additional lighting device set, at a light glow, by super-human hands.
How does something that appears to come and go so frequently potentially exist closer to eternity than anything imagined?
But we are the transient, and that moon, that shining disc of seemingly stable crystalline fluff that is always

provoking that inquisitive wonderment
reminds us of the moments immediately prior to our surrender.

We sleep through so much, our eyes closed to the world.

Almost to the middle now, the honest child got everything
he wanted adrift sweetly fawning musical notes.

One can never know a thing
that accurately conveys the feel of Neverland.
The usual thwarts thought and seduces through routine until the break

in the darkness
is almost out of sight.