The moon is but a sliver, a cradle
for stars glowing against absolute darkness
and my feet crave the sand of long pale beaches
with waves to lull me to slumber there.
But the nightbirds' song is no seduction,
holds no promise I care to see kept;
I have wept the sea while windswept shores
cleansed my cheeks of empty oaths.
And my chest aches, full
with the weight of midnight.