Late Night Poems

She flees like fleeting
shadows in the westward wind
and I lose sight of her and
scream, "return to me
lost ship of magnificent beauty!
Where have you gone and
left me here?"
but get naught but howls in
answer.

The moon was low and
large in the night sky,
yellow like the skins of
dead men
ready for the fights in the
world beyond,
in shadow and absence
of light.

The chilly air breaks down
to the bone
and I protrate on the
bus stop bench,
a mourner in church,
breath misting on the air.

After drinks on the house,
down the hatch and away,
I walk home in the cold and
the harvest moon is
gone.
Only the impassive, silver glow
of a three-quarter moon
high in the sky behind
stringy clouds
lights my way back to bed
and sleep.