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Night falls, Moon, return awhile
and let us celebrate your masculine rebirth.
Chase the sun to her dark exile
and restore life to our parched earth.
Yours is a court of erotic dreams
attended by the stars: your private confections,
your ladies-in-waiting. With bright white gleams
they compete for your affections.
Passions bloom under your fertile reign.
In sweet silent darkness, newly smitten
a twenty-something kisses her handsome swain:
this peck a token of love letters not yet written.
Yet dawn arrives and you’re gone, you rogue.
Day’s arid sadness is back in vogue.

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