Under the Dim Light

From under the dim light of a faltering moon,
I embrace the chill of a spring night;
its evening eyes hidden under new sprouts
of tender grass.

Winter past froze time in crystal tears,
each night an agony that tore my soul.
I do not regret its passing into the ides
of windy March.

Soon summer will play upon the oceans of us;
our passions a war of foam and sea,
churning up the sands of time and eternal lust
of things we can't have.

Like the faltering moon of spring's new birth,
we'll know the after taste of winter frost,
even as we frolic among the white-capped
waters of summer.