In the arms of the moon I see a reflection deep in the white Of an emptiness. Her tears come down upon cheeks of the same hue Of no hue. I kiss them in the haze of a winter's sunset For her to rise to blanket the night Without direction for her light. Just a bleakness That encompasses the world over, In the firm void. I want to love, To hold the woman of my knowing. Though, her depression holds shoulders of its own. She finds herself Awed by misery. When will the circle form a box? A mere moon to find a home, In the arms of something else than the sheer pain That causes silver to run their courses over ivory cheeks, Deep in the molded twilight. Could I allow love to tread its way To your hollow self? To all that you wish, of me, to heed Of a man whose limbs are astray From the morning's light.