moon picks up
the stray threads
of sunlight
weaves a new
cloth
moonlight
a haze of motes
soft as feathers
kinder than sunlight’s glare
I wear it gladly
wandering strands of silver
strands of gold
among the green and the grey
skylights finding their way
to earth
in the parched grass of the night
pools of silver light
sooth
almost like rainwater
falling
we see only beauty
in the fields of the night
hear only music
in the cry of the hunting owl
beneath the silver a sprinkling of red blood