Of all the lights in all the cities, roads

and multitude villages I have passed,

there is one unknown,

so I thought.

 

Not so much unseen; its source followed, patiently.

Just, there, illuminating the long night trip,

as we scudded together

in one direction, or another.

 

So yes, the moon, I grant you,

that presence, there.

But times, over some shoulder of a hill.

Sometimes modest,

oft, in her cyclic way, sheathed,

with reckless, senseless hope chased along the spine, of a mega-way.

 

Behold then, I came to a junction,

with no obvious, or even expected way.

But yet, in all outright, bereft honesty, all that was there, was found.

 

And now she smiles, forming, that delicious curvature, of we.

Found; three radicals,

sun-kissed ley lines,

some burnished silver, moon undressed, underness.

And mix, oh minx, mix!