The Gift of The Moon

My window made a frame
Painted silver by the lifht
My tears blurred it but I could see
The moon
The still moon rising
I hoped you would come to me tonight
Silvery blue I sat in the stillness
And could not rest
I was lonely and afraid
And cold

Slowly the moon captured my eyes
And wavered through my hair
Like a quicksilver specter

Clouds drifted across in spots
And blocked the ethereal light
Like pockets in the brain

Someday I must get up
And try to find you
And blood
And the tears and cold sweat
Will cease to flow across the page

But until then
I will sit by my picture widow
Crying silver tears
Ad waiting for more
Than just an answer