Inklings

The Super Beaver Moon arose;    
cloud strata here and there;    
like burning respiration flows    
of dragon breath despair.    
   
And then the strata soon closed in    
to block the lunar light    
so apprehension and chagrin    
would overwhelm the night.    
   
Arcane tonight; arcane ahead;    
where moonbeams just won't do    
when planet Earth is cold and dead    
and jollity taboo.    
   
Too soon to tell if deep Bluesky    
will see me free and clear,    
to give myself another try...    
as Midnight Sonneteer.