How shall I face the silver sky
if I do not write of love tonight?
The sacred moon,
half in these mighty clouds soft longing veil,
It waits in the sky like a faithful soul still, undiminished.

She lingers a moment, aloof yet watching all below closely,
Unheard songs never touching the world she adores.
Every tree reaches in admiration,
even the cassia bows beneath her majesty's gaze,
its silver-like shadow sinking into every moment of longing.

Love is similar, it too glows brightest from afar
Yet close enough to ache while too vast to fully hold.
Mist clings to the moor, every petals with unshed tears, this twilight fog
as silence becomes the shape of our love.

The silent keeper of the new realm waits,
refusing to unbar the golden bridge,
arching between our presence and coming farewell a celestial bridge lit only for those who dare to journey.

I uncorked your scent with trembling hands, rose and rust - petals blood steep in sandalwood oil and with this I follow to the reaching unknown.

The perfume of every fallen blossom lingers in the stolen air owned by the night, more alive in this moment than the bloom ever was.

The wind that moves every landscape carries a lullaby gently forward, it speaks softly as the travelers follow it's lit path,
it moves through trembling trees, over hill tops
its hush present and more honest than any vow.

So I write here beside the northern pane,
my ink steeped in the quiet of stars,
for even heaven, dressed in snow and silver,
cannot outshine the yearning of one heart.