Save the shaky palm which strokes the brow,
what can untimeliness do to assuage?
Censure wayward star, contritely pen a vow
and wish your eyes smile on the page?
Breaking the circle of page and path we step aside.
Harvest Moon, pregnant with soft gold,
It posts low,
vigilant over spoils.
Pull back the sheets.
Mute pages sleep,
by prying eyes.
We cannot still desire or silence fear.
This print, Nightfall on pale as day pages.
Sun tucks eye under margin
to close glaring Tribunals.
We're sentinels of night.
White blanks intimate explicit silences.
Every page a canvas where desire passes