Moonglow drips from the shadows tonight,
Like satin frosting,
Settling in drawn layers on the trees and rooftops;
Melting across the lake;
Exposing its nighttime watery secrets.
This light has a mysteriousness about it;
A sense of romance that the sun lacks,
And yet it is, really nothing more than
The sun bounced off of a rock;
The same sun...
But for some reason, this
Moonglow makes us slow to stop, and then
Look and whisper,
As a tourist in a shrine.
What is it that the moon does with this light
Before it sends it on?
It moves in the window with thoughtful care instead of
The usual bluster and entitlement of the daytime sun.
It finds your shoulder and hesitates, then
Drapes so carefully,
So as not to wake you;
As if it just came to be with you, and
At how beautiful you are;
Receding as quietly and carefully as it came,
Though it stretches a bit.
Longing to stay...
Marveling in you.