Gone

sharp black angular edges and slopes of rooftops

affectionately framing the dark blue smokey skies

shimmering in the elegant ghost silver,

pale sliver lunar calm

they're slow dancing under an open umbrella

of gently pulsing stars

where waves and spirit crash brightly

where they were once cradled by the night myth

where the east wind sings

rustling fall colors on bended boughs

it was then that it finally became time

to find each others hands

in the times they never knew

when she finally began to accept her beautiful reflection

and turn silver to gold

when they at long last became that promised constellation

tenderly cradled by the night myth