The Moonlit Field (Poetry)

It is the place I go to be alone
whenever I need to think and be myself —
that field laid out and hushed
in all its silver finery.

The trees mercuried-over —
leaves sharpened to drips held
in breathless suspension — limbs transfixed
branched thin and brittle-looking.

Horses in a far corner stand in groups
fast asleep on their feet
magicked still as statues they
might be unicorns in marble.

And the heavy clumps of blossom gleam star-white
in the night-flowering hedge
and the soft mauve wings of the moon moth beat
quiet as a dreaming heart...

Drawn to the light trout rise like ghosts
where the river slides its lazy chill
between willowed banks where
speckled thoughts swim easy now

peace breathes a space — unrolling
and unreeling like an old-time silent movie
screened in memory’s theatre — closed
but for an audience of one.