Look up, it is a full moon, I can
read so clearly what I am writing
tonight. As I write I can’t imagine
what drives me, I am grasping
at memory, I grapple gab as I
make my meaning. Tell me you can’t
read by moonlight, and it is evident to me
you are right. It is a conceit of mine
to write so clearly you read me in
sheer delight. I am a styled silver script,
words that only lovers can read.

I would dwell amongst the towers
of the illegible letters of the night;
I would be the blessed of blather,
radiant reflection of stars’
shine outside your window;
letters to be read by the light
of the moon, dancing before you,
I sigh satin rose,
“look it is the moon,
a full moon,” and you reply
“I read you so clearly!”