Silent Movie (Poetry)

Leaves cast against the moon
sharpened by its light
and all their living green
thinned to black and white

Shapes that float in air
breathing in the chill
most are anchored tight
some sail off at will

go drifting through the dark
a current spins them round
the moon’s a silver screen
such movies have no sound

and the audience of one
is left to dream or guess
what night’s director meant
sleep edits out the rest