‘Tis midnight still and moonbeam calm

When frosted footfalls trudge silent in the snow,

And ribald limbs leave black lace upon the wall,

That satin slowly slides off soft skin once again.

Memories antiphonal, lines lifted from a Psalm,

Shining with brightness above and below,

Dance with a dervish then slow to a crawl-

My juggernaut prayer with no sure amen.

Inquire through the window and question the night,

“What will you bring before march of dawn?”

Stars rub dim their glory off ice-armored tile

And constellations gasp, as they fall apart.

How soon will sky’s hue catch that first blaze of light;

And thence spark a yearning e’er its fire is gone?

Since there’s no warm touch to make my face smile,

Who then will greet the wake of my heart?