From the tawny light br from the rainy nights br from the imagination finding br itself and more than itself br alone and more than alone br at the bottom of the well where the moon lives, br can you pull me br br into December? a lowland br of space, perception of space br towering of shadows of clouds blown upon br clouds over br           new ground, new made br under heavy December footsteps? the only br way to live? br br The flawed moon br acts on the truth, and makes br an autumn of tentative br silences. br You lived, but somewhere else, br your presence touched others, ring upon ring, br and changed. Did you think br I would not change? br br           The black moon br turns away, its work done. A tenderness, br unspoken autumn. br We are faithful br only to the imagination. What the br imagination br           seizes br as beauty must be truth. What holds you br to what you see of me is br that grasp alone.