The moon ruminates on the rock
he has now become, transformed
from the lava which ran, flowed
slowly, from a blazing inferno
somewhere in the cosmos. His home?
No one will tell. It is for him to
know, and who really can know?
He muses, as his dreamlike shades
turn from white to grey, dark to light,
as songs and poetry rhapsodize on the
dreams he tells, of oceans and wolves,
lovers, magic and wanderings.