I sang to you & the moon

I sang to you and the moon

But only the moon remembers.

I sang

O reckless free-hearted

                  free-throated rhythms,

Even the moon remembers them

And is kind to me.

Under the Harvest Moon

Under the harvest moon,

When the soft silver

Drips shimmering

Over the garden nights,

Death, the gray mocker,

Comes and whispers to you

As a beautiful friend

who remembers.

The double moon, one on the high back drop of the west, one on the curve of the river face,

The sky moon of fire and the river moon of water, I am taking these home in a basket, hung on an elbow, such a teeny weeny elbow, in my head.