THE GAZING MOON

You are afraid of the bright gazing ball
In the midst of your garden green.
You are afraid of a moonlight squall,
When a man would make you queen.

You were bestowed on Earth like a kiss
And it breathlessly waits for you words.
You were created for nights just like this
And the cost of your love is unheard.

You are afraid of the moonlit moor,
Or to bathe in it, flushed, head to toe.
You are afraid of palatial, grand tours;
Of paupers, with hearts pure as gold.

You are a torrid, bone-drenching rain
That mists the deep vale of my heart.
You are a ransom, paid to regain
The glory that nearly departs.

You are afraid of the cloud-burst you are;
The ocean of love that you hold.
You are afraid to dream in your yard
For some of that love might unfold.

You are a lover, so preciously wrought;
A boundless and borderless soul.
You were created to give me these thoughts
Like a flower that ever unfolds.

You are afraid of the silvery song;
Of whippoorwill echoing glades.
You are afraid of an oil-pan pond
With a border of myrrh-scented jade.

I am afraid of such beauty as you
For you cripple my tongue and my pen.
I swim in the grasses that swim in your dew
And I drink you again and again.

You are afraid of a gazing-ball moon
That pours wholly all that you are
Out like the speckles, the sparkles of June
To my hold, while you dance on my spars.

You are afraid, so you drive it away.
You chase it. You flail it. You render it broke.
Trample it. Bury it. Dig it a grave.
Test it and test it, and test 'til it smokes.

But the smoke, it arises like frankensence, sweet.
It flows like a river, a freshet, a flood.
It pours like an oil on a sojourner's feet.
It's precious. It's precious, this treasure called love.

Copyright - Dave Martin 1994