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Gold Moon

High, high flows the moon in a sea of mackerel waves,
Head-scarved in a glow of quiet,
Still, as the upright scars of branches
Chop at the dreamy sea;
Whilst behind me a fire burns,
Snowflakes glow towards the sky;

I stand in awe.

And the smoke goes in a trail towards distance
Like a dream ladder to the stars,
Little me.

Held in the palm of the world …

No language except the sight and feelings –
My soul, one day, up there,
Traversing worlds.

Brute earth,
Condensed matter,
Life will drive me upwards,
The gold behind my eyes become meaning.

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