With its haze of buds,
Blurry rain, pussy willows
And gray storm clouds.
April was coming
And I was in love.
Each night I took
The canoe of the Moon
And voyaged to see you—
I’d ride the surf
Of cloudy waves
To your house.
I knew somewhere
In the jumble of lights
Was the golden tile
Of your window
And I lived
For that moment
Of sweet surprise
When you stood on tiptoe
And reached up at last
To grasp my hand
And join me
In that magical boat
As we sailed away to Key Largo…
Or so it seemed
In my lucid dream
Of you and me
On a phosphorescent sea.
April was coming
But never arrived,
I saw the dream
Die in your eyes.
Yes, I was foolish
Wildly improbable
Vainly trying to accomplish
The impossible
Still I make no apology
About stirring the depths—
Men long to swim underwater
And see what lurks beneath
Or sail through the sky
Impossibly high
If only in dreams…
But when nights are mild
With stars scattered about
And the Moon at its cusp,
I love it
When the dark bottle
Of night spills out
And the Moon
Writes in chalk
About the two of us.