Ah, declining just now,
growing more tired with almost every breath.
I will be forced to try an early bed.
Meanwhile the west coast lilts of Africa
-- the dreaming, dancing melodies of some softer idiom --
fill my head with the comforts of their quiet musics.
I am lost within this small moment,
letting old thoughts find new expression,
breathing the closely remembered airs
of some finer night
when we met the Moon
and twirlled neath the madding influences
of her large and silver face.

Tall the trees rise to catch her trailing glories,
to wind among their blue-black boughs
Her sparkle and Her glitter;
and we are dancing there together,
our shadows tossed over
and upon the mounded mosses.

I lift your face
with the gentle urgings of my hand,
and let the Moon flood across your features.
Your lips are dark and warm,
and I place my mouth on your's
and drink again the subtle tastes of you.

Tonight, within the half-circle of this cove,
I think Tuhul has found his Casta;
and they are bound together,
star washed, and Moon drenched,
two twisting smokes that lift from their paired fires,
and dance above
all the night-blurred mobilities
of their gilded ocean.

************************************