Sung moonlight
Voices call, frolic, caress
Lyric vines twine, then pull free after just
The right amount of dissonance.
Songs bud, blossom, petals collapse
One flung after the other in a spectacle of careless exuberance
To tease the composer, intrigue the poet, rile the critic
Warm the senses.
All, ultimately, a prelude.
Steel core bound in a braid of purest silk, at last unleashed
Pure love, dressed in too-brief song, rendering
Any words, any notes
Moonlight.
Blessed be the ear, so nearly drowning.
Word Winding 