Talking to the Moon

In the quiet hours when the moon’s a sliver,  

I sit with tea, my thoughts begin to quiver.  

Confetti like emails and the deadline awaits,  

Whilst my mind flirts with celestial fates

A half-remembered dream from last night’s show,  did I dance with shadows, moving slow? 

Talking to the moon, again…

I ponder its rise and fall,  

Echoes caught in a crystal ball 

Passionate flames now flicker dim,  

The amber fades on a whim

But oh! The beauty in this gentle decline,  

Hanging low caught in a twine

And as it pulls tides and hearts alike,  

I’ll raise my cup to the waning night.