Silver
by
Amethyst

Bright moon, this trembling, sleepless night
that burns the grass silver,
I come to borrow a cup of light
to stir into the batter,
to mix in with the platitudes,
the cliches that are safer,
to sift and stir and whip and fold
so he might catch a glimmer
of my true heart behind the words,
and see the real answer.

Bright moon, if I could then implore
you for another favor,
I'd crawl onto your generous hearth,
beneath your coals of silver,
emerge more mellow than before,
accessible and tender;
I'd wrap myself in silver light
and bring him home to dinner.