Moon

Gliding cold across the sky
She beckons in a dream
That's sighing on a billowed sail
Before a shadowed scene.
Her spirit, in a silver shroud
is captured in a hush
Once risen, she must never love
Her hands must never touch
From phantom eyes a thousand tears
fall moonbeams to the sea
and fly their golden midnight sails
to filter through the trees
of bare disconsolation
watching her from darkened depths,
awaiting as in ritual,
Her final fading steps.

-Megan Mullally