Moon at Half Past Noon

A wisp of your hair flows
Lunging at a canvas made of thin air 

It strokes it like a cat’s paws 
Threatening to scratch 
but softening the blow.

It swirls, painting your desires 
The drops of crystal white 
Splashed across the face of
whichever color the river chose 

My breath plays hide and seek 
Through rocks sleeping on the beach 
My thoughts of you strewn 
On the sheet of sacred water 
Sometimes in worship 
Others as a half whispered wish 

They float in disdain and disbelief 
A miser in love 
A coward in pain 
Cowering when all else is still