Moonlight
I spun from the moon threads of light
and wove them to fashion my sight.
My soul was reflected inside,
revealed by the scant light of night.
The weave was transparent and silver
a tenuous substance,
a shiver,
not meant for this world or this weaver,
a glimmer,
a mirror,
a river.
Sometimes you just see without knowing
what nature’s unfolding to show you;
you’re granted the thrill of the awing
by all the unseen world that’s glowing.
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