At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time When you set your fancies free ...

— Robert Browning, Epilogue

At the midnight

(waiting, as always, for the moon clock to chime, the falling star seconds beckon the eye)

in the silence

(you hold hands, not tongues, in these hours, when the long day's no longer young, but aged in galaxy light)

of the sleep-time

(grass dew pillows beneath your heads, she said earlier how she needs roots and seeds, not feathers, to hold her mind, upright, tonight)

When you set your fancies free

(waxing, not waning, the silver shine always and forever reminds you of her, in the now and for the always, this night when you watched the quiet unfold)

for #verselove