Maybe The Yellow Moon

I wake often

In the blue before dawn

Visited by the tender mercies, the sorrowful passions, the glorious mysteries

I see my daughter bent at the dishes... in the summer evening .... grown now

I add up the dead and remember the dying

Then I count the futures that got away.. or maybe still remain

in another place, seen in another light,

Maybe I live in London

Maybe New York

surrounded by children and magic

Maybe I live in California ..

and drink red wine with a blond haired woman each sundown

Maybe there are a thousand lives being lived under my name

under the morning sky,

under the setting sun,

Maybe under the yellow moon.