The dark light of distance
Arrives around noon
Brought on in this instance
By yesterday evening’s moon
As the schooners set sail
With their sails raised high
No future to fail
Naught to sell, or to buy
As the roses wobbled
And the double doors creaked
The old man hobbled
While the youngsters streaked
The mind in space
Or at least halfway still
Twisting the lace
Of the wandering will
Though the heavens do help
More than ever you know
Harvesting the kelp
For winters to stow
