Twilight
Every night,
When the sun flees
The moon,
She sits beside
The pool which has
The sky
Within its waters
And hangs the
Blue-glanced stars
On the darkened
Sky above.
Silver-gilded twilight
Shrouds her
Face,
Known to
No one,
Not even the wind.
Maybe she has
Lost the memory
Of the days
Without looking
Into the pool that
Holds the sky and seeing
Blankness.
If you ask the
White-clad moon,
He will tell you that
She is Twilight.
Maybe she is,
Maybe she isn't.
Maybe she
Doesn't want you to know.