Nights

by Neil Flory

such delicacies, these silver whisperings

              singular spring moon, its light engulfing

       in no forge no flame yet blessed

rain, in saturation of we shall have

       forth world-wishes, imprints

of then sketches, rough charcoal reaches, the half-sonatas

of silver nights conceived only far beyond,

            as yet in thanks,

                                    unborn