4 October 2012
Silver bark is scarred with ghostly faces and its branches reach up into the starlit sky.
As I climb higher and higher, toes stealing every grip, The stars and universe circle on by, My climb is steady, I do not slip, The navy tablecloth above, Laid out like a banquet, Air perfumed by foxgloves, Dancing delicately in the night, Knurled bark under my fingers, In the ever brightening light, The moon shines down, A silver, occluded orb, With faded warmth and fire, The forest longs to absorb,
Wolf-eyes look on, And dream the ancient moon-song,
Like a million candles at dawn, The moon is iridescent in the dark, My pointed face bathed in the glow, As orange eyes begin to spark,
The coming of the dead is near, So an uncontainable howl rips out, And as the Eve draws closer, The scent of the living is in doubt.
Moon Tree • Opuss № I