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The Moon's Empty Field


The deep orange moon slips the horizon
rising with the pace of Hamlet's ghost
moving across the span casement to casement,
a clear sky, three quarter glow, rind and seed.

The insects tap out their thrumming beat
as I inscribe without deliberation,
without plan, no calendar for my prayer,
orange to pink, pink to yellow, breathing color.

In this moon's rise is the ever changing hue of truth,
a faith conceived of hope. Dogs howl approval,
hearts howl the thumping veins of their surface,
I plead with the night to summon my speech.

Speak, scribe! Tell them of your journey,
tell them the story of themselves, you've sensed it,
they'll listen when you tell them of its breathing,
the hallowed veins of God’s ghost thrumming in you...

~

Peace and Love

© 2013 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime

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