Standing where the lunatic moonlight begins,
near enough to finger-tip touch
but looking towards the raven-wood,
wild forest of feathered dreams--
I am over the edge. Long distance eyes
remember the horizon's line, a long, sideways
doorway into something bigger than before.
I am waiting for the echoes of the old life
to finally fade away, like countless stars
and streetlamps in the monolithic dawn;
the hobby-life, the little works and little loves
passing off into something truly bright,
knowing also, when it comes,
one must answer the light with light.