NOW, FACE THE MOON- I read your secret thoughts, your dream- In the dead leaves floating slow, downstream; In the rain that filled the empty skies I tasted the tears as they left your eyes. I felt your regret in the sudden breeze- How, as it passed, it stirred the trees- How it drifted away in the smoky light. I'd felt it before- alone in the night. You have grown weary from living apart From the rest of the world with your troubled heart. When your faith was lost you felt deceived Yet, you wish for a time when you still believed. The cold orb looms over sunset hills. Through this silent land the darkness steals. The river reflects the endless flow Of sky above to moon below. Now, when hands cannot hide your grief, When no memory of hope can restore belief, From the shadows that are fleeing fast, Turn now, face the moon- and face the truth at last.

DREAMLESS SLUMBER- winter never drew so near the dying leaves of one more year- grimly silent, cold and deep; but, dreamless slumber is not sleep. kissed by loneliness and fear of dying lonely, lying here trees look on the world and weep, but, dreamless slumber is not sleep. Soon enough that sleep will come feared by many, cheered by some. Spirits on the watch they keep Know dreamless slumber is not sleep.

FIRST VISION- Only at night, now do you reveal yourself, only in dreams. Light blurs your memory the way this day, gray and damp, Makes the mountains more distant, more blue than green, Beyond any slumber I have known in winter. And where you reside is not a journey of miles, It is a passage of time, a mist and a whisper- A deserted shoreline echoing dead voices in the lament of gulls. It is unremembered faces rippling pools of dark water. It is a reason to stand alone in the rain, Weeping under the full moon, Waiting, as I have always waited, For the dream to come to you.

Déjà vu - In the cool of a summer's evening, When the mist is on the rise And the blue of the sky is deepening And a fire glows in your eyes, You may find that a wish from within you Is beginning to take control, An overwhelming sence of deja-vu That trembles deep in your soul. It might be your hopes for tomorrow Or your dreams of yesterday And yet, somehow it turns into sorrow For the feeling cannot stay. Like the voice of an opera singer Or the snows of winters past, So the seeds of the heart may linger But the fields of time are vast.

At Ephraim's Grave - Touch the stone, but do not linger. Climb the hill beyond and listen. In a world we made more empty hear a spirit voice, like flame, born out of ashes again and again. Such profound silence in these woods - a strange homecoming to a place we never knew. Stare past the night and a vision remains, of fur under snow in remote mountains. Do not stand at his grave and weep, he is not dead, he does not sleep.