Once, I spoke to the peaks of the shadows
That crept up the posts of my bed,
And I asked why they danced in the moonlight
Just beyond the reach of my head.
Not a word did they offer my asking,
But they flickered in silence instead.
Then, I spoke to the moon of its shining,
Why it cast deadly shadows below,
Why it splintered the darkness with longing
And shattered my dreams in its glow.
But it mocked me and ran from my asking,
Insisting that I need not know.
Now I lie on the outskirts of dreaming,
Where waking and sleeping are pressed.
As I close my eyes to the asking,
I cross my arms on my chest.
Then I nod to the moon and its shadows
To welcome the sweetness of rest.
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