It is black and silent
out the kitchen window
I catch the moon sidling
through my woods
a haloed disc of rising light
moving tree to tree
a hundred candles waltzing
Below her satin passage
that darkness is a wall
the sounds of incidental
mountain life restrained
Indoors it’s warm, and bright
Wrapped in a feather light cloak
of old house small noises
I settle in to wait
for morning