Two nights ago the moon swung
Over the desert and the elephant-foot hills
Like a big gold scoop of butter.
Last night the moon hung
Over the the high mountains, netted with clouds,
Like an old brass coin.
Tonight the moon, unstrung,
Soars over the towers and the lake,
Like a cold silver dollar searchlight.
Through her constant changes among
Shape and colour and form
Like a bold wanderer, we move and change together.
24th August 2018