The night welcomed him with open arms
and gradually divulged all her plans.

A full moon, he coasted into her heart and
floated out of her dark, delighted eyes.

Gently, he brushed her roving depths,
a cheek-stroking feather of light,

a cloud floating through the air
carrying the burden of moonshine.

Intrigued, she asked him who he was
but only her shadow mocked back at her.

Suddenly, she understood: the night does
not define the moon; the moon gives shape

to the night. Content, she went limp and
gave up her plans; approvingly, he smiled.

In the morning, seeing the vacant bed,
she cried out, 'Oh, he's gone....'

But the bright sunshine revealed
that it was herself she couldn't find.