The sun tickled the moon last winter night
A tinge of flushed pale pink throughout the sky.
And with it came the call of the lost fright,
Roaming near the water it broke it’s lie.
For the howl of the feathered beast cried out,
Leaving a nest of broken lights behind.
In the sea of sparks came a flying trout,
And Orion above left blue in mind.
The screeching white hound in his blasphemy,
Took to dashing between the laws of wind.
And through the sins of which were tracked by he,
Came the song of the rusted copper tin.
The spirits of the winter night chill cold,
And wait for the sight that the wind foretold.