The moon is not a chalk mark Against grey slate. Brilliant tonight As it hovers between wisps of cloud. Words are not meant to persuade But to convey. The moon is not just a disc Illuminating the night. My companion On the walk home through Black Patch Park. These are not merely words Strung together in pretty lines. When you reduce me to my words, Cutting away the meaning To focus on the phrasing The rest of me is pitched Into darkness.