Follow the wisps of blue
to reach the disfigured veranda of stone
where phantom abstract slips from high
when the horned and the barred claim their distress
flames cast shadows cross skin of water
yet the light from the bright moonrise still dies.
Says the sun to the wind and the wind to the moon
“who is more powerful?”
No northern zephyr dares betray and forfeit.
Greet the night from beyond her gate
for ghostly protest hath no dictate.