Come, touch me, Night Mother.
I hear the moonsong.
I smell the green summer hymn
hover on the evening breeze,
rich as chocolate,
poignant as tears.
Rose clouds, red sky,
my heart leaps to see the sunset.
I follow the inconstant beacons of fireflys,
guardians of the dusk,
keepers of the faerie path.
Elusive and wandering, I dance with them,
swaying to the drumbeat
that pulses the earth.
Wild and soft is the NightWorld,
and I am part of it,
part of the shadows and silver starshine.
The opalescence lays cool on my skin,
turns my blood to silk
as I am swallowed by mist and dark.

© 2002 Rebecca Ann-Francis Coffindaffer