in this moonlight hour
just before blackness complete
consumes the sky,
granite hillsides glow
like snowy slopes.
and the lake they enclose,
on this windless night,
appears as a floor of ice in the stillness,
something you could skate upon.
this is your snowless winter wonderland.
the silence profound
becomes a song you find all around
one only your heart can hear
but one you want to bottle up
and share, if only in words.
so quiet it almost rings.
so soundless it seems to sing.
you now understand bliss.
this is a moment you already miss.
this is your guestless concert hall.
the conifers stand as sentinels
in this amphitheatre.
and with them as guard
you find you feel safe.
you find you feel at home.
you find you can stargaze
and weave your own twilight dream
as deeper darkness slips in.
you inquire whether or not
it is possible to "moon bathe."
can the moon burn your skin?
or will it make you paler instead?
will laying in its rays make you
a moonglow kindred?
(you hope so)
this is your soulless woodland beach.
so, you give it a go:
you lay down on smooth, flat slab
of sierran granite
to consider the Heavens above
bathing in cascading moonlight.
here you become a moth
drawn to the milky flame
hopeful that if you just don't blink
you might deeply sink
into this twilight dream
and live there for longer than
this is your ageless never-never land.