The wash of the moon

dream-limned

from a million eyes

streamed in

and brushed

against my face.

Awakened, I asked,

What is it that

you came to visit?

The moon replied,

This is not a love song.

I’ve brought you this:

It’s the dust

God shook off

his great coat

after he had stopped

arguing with

his younger self.

It’s the particles

of worlds

that vanished

before time

had a face

recognisable.

It’s the numbers

of the universe

broken up

by the tremor

of a bird’s

beating wing.

It’s the grain

that floats

among the stars

come to rest

as the glint and grit

in your eyes.

These things

are the fading

and the thrum,

the shadow

and the light of life.

Listen, see, speak.

Warwick McFadyen