Moonnight

Still as an unused tomb,

not even a whisper or a sigh.

Like the moment before a storm,

when animals are silent and hidden,

and the clouds prowl like hungry wolves.

There is a scent of cool remembrance,

an icy sliver woven between warmer air.

A single breath, and small clouds are born,

drifting up and away forever,

lifespan eternal yet so short.

Twin pools shine for a moment and

then are hidden once more from sight.

Silver threads snake across the land,

exposing hidden things and casting shadows.

A lonely note rises into the freezing expanse,

hovering about and chilling to the bone.