A sliver of moon hung high
pierces through silhouettes
of shadow in the night.
Unmasked during an autumn eve,
stripped bare to dance aloft
with a fit of tangled stars.
A synchronistic constellation
orchestrates nocturnal spells
in tune with a symphony
of the spheres.
Magic slips off sanguine tongues
as each new shift of the waning season cycles.
Light from the heavenly bodies
is not dampened
by a canvass of clouds.
Faith abides that they will shine
alive through the night
behind a curtain of gray.
Even the planets of God are allowed to rest,
peaceful and still in their sleep,
glowing warm with each sigh,
dreaming of new worlds to brighten.
There is madness in the swirling chaos.
There is love that always holds its center.
There is order in the pulse of each spinning orb.
