This was the Oracle’s idea of a cadralor. Not a true one as there isn’t enough divergence in the stanzas, so I haven’t set it out as one. The Oracle knows what she wants to say. I just write it down.
Sleep has fled again
and I hear the wind among the leaves;
the purple-haired moon moans
in the tree-shadows.
I cried when the day ended
in a symphony of clouds and pigeons
breasting the ocean sky;
summer is too brief to fade so soon.
There is honey in the storm-light
sweet and dark
and blood in its thick warm voice;
menace or promise?
Screams in the night,
and the pounding of waves on the strand.
There’ll be no ship for me this night.
Wind blows away the morning mist
but no sun shines.
The sweetness of the day is you,
still here, though the tide has turned.