Moonshadow, a song.

Chevron hills,

saffron junipers,

scattered across twilight,

looking like nothing,

beside lost paths,
that lead somewhere strange,
inside heads.


I was here,
I was there.
You were here before,  
do you hear?


The dust and the oldest trees,
the junipers and the little-little bees,
the hills and the scree,
all made of matter-
pitter-patter,

never belonged to us,
never ever?


                  And who were we,
                          stoning the stones,
                                        making fire,
                                               making ire.



And this was where,
this was when,

the sphinx had laughed,
the sphincter sang,
in gossamer thoughts,
of gods and gargoyles,
and we had poked,
and we had punned,
in our heads,
in that loveshadow,
beneath the pines,
in that moonshadow
of our hearts,
in that moonshadow
in our heads,
where we dwell,

you and I.