remnants of a moment
cloaked in wonder
spread gossamer lights
across the sky
of a sorely surrendered moon
Galileo would be proud
were it not for the Shakespearian sonnets
whispered in the Sunday parks
on the sunniest of all afternoons
for the night grows jealous of
conjured misdeeds
stolen from the squandered darkness
making the stars cry their unenviable tears
of early morning dew
a short hopeful shiny prose
just for you.........
(Jan 30.2004 240 am)