on a cold autumn night
streets wind between buildings
like a maze
a rare passer-by out late
moves through the lamppost's spot of light
where went the warm dawn
whose copper sun shone slant
onto the awakening world
while I wept for all that was past?
the way to this moment was long and tough
but the moment itself briefer than brief
and now all that remains is
the rising of the last quarter moon
Content (c) 2008-2015 Philip Milito.