Yellow Moon

The nightjar knows my window,
Brought to my attention
On a sandless sirocco.
A diaphanous cotton curtain,
Duck egg coloured, coveted
Under an oval rococo sky.

Yellow moon, rarified, rarer
Than blue, gravity carries
Waves of vibrant life on
This town’s fringe, car horns,
A far dog’s bark, moored yachts
With light bulb strings and

Distant bells. I lay dreaming
On my chaise longue beneath
Windows with symbols like
Love unattired, perspiring
Slightly on my lip, I sipped
Some milk in my sleep

And counted the many statues
With their harps and arrows
Until it slipped, transpiring
That you could not arrive in your
Current form, and nor could I
Leave, though love, how I tried,

How I tried and deceived
The seven symptoms of my distress,
Kept apart from the night-princess
With life’s strings I strived to
Contest, I awoke in a sweat,
Only to find I survived instead.