It is after
the first few hours of sleep
the night begins to glow
in the steps through mental snow
following the blizzard of years
as we wander through the keep
The Moonlight, Sir,
invades the process of thought
and what days created it
the process of selecting
between black and white
between major and minor
runs up the scale at night
when dreams that are bought
repeat themes knocking at the door
Sinking into remembrance
fingers fly hesitantly
across the keyboard
finding a letter here
and the joy of chance
in new melody near
when dark around us
peers over the shoulder
at the small sparks
that light the fingers
in their joyful dance
Always drifts begin to close
upon the gates then open
where feet through memory
run when no fence will hold
and the need to doze
intrudes it twists and trills
to lean back into the drama
of a neat little glimmer
where fates await
their dream eludes
Barry G. Wick
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