Rie Sheridan Rose


Cold moonlight
like ice water
in the black cup
of midnight.

Quenching thirsts
of wandering souls
parched by daylight's
burning sun.

Darkly they dance--
Whirling shadows
draped in mist
swathed in stars.

With dawn they dissapate,
scattering with the breeze,
lost by morning's light
to dream again of night.