One Evening Late Last Autumn

I sit idly dreaming in the last rays
of the evening sun on the chilly stone bench
beneath the jasmine, knowing that my thoughts
are as amorphous as a morning mist.

Impossible to seize, too tenuous
to convince me one day they may come true.
I sit statuesque and rise with the moon
I turn my white face to her silver one

and feel her aloof indifferent stare
icy and hard; her visage uncaring
of my small and insignificant life.
Vaguely I hope her traverse across the night

sky will be an effortless journey,
smoother and calmer than my day just passed.
Perhaps she may have noticed my plight,
whisper of it to the sun as they cross paths;

when the sun rises she may decide to
make the day a special one for all of us.