The pale skin of the moon.
Rain your light on grass fields
That blow as waves in the wind.
Be the poem of mine,
On me,
who gazes into the pond water
that ripples your reflection
You are so close I can touch
Your face is on the water.
Your face in my soul is so imaginary,
Yet you are far away.
Your trick of traveling to Earth
is a craft,
Moon.
You fade behind thin clouds,
Like see-through linen draped around a woman.
It pleases me that you chose
to linger in this pond.
Stay while the crickets sing
in the tall grass near lapping water
We are two lovers in comfortable silence.
We are the soft light of stars,
breathers of light.
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