Clay F. Johnson

Writer | Poet | Pianist | sometime Alpinist | hopeless Romanticist

She Walks in Moonlight

She Walks in Moonlight


Ice-scythed lyric, sharp enough
To bleed the frost-sheathed heart,
Jagged glacier, crimson within
The ruby-flowered caves


Concealing the unforgiven,
Ice-burned and wind-chilled memories
Of Her requiem, not in d-minor,
But in minor C—sharp—like Her teeth


Piercing soft pale-skinned veins,
The blue-streaked beauties of
Those bloody rivers within
Speckled shimmering—the silvered Night
The same sky the soul-destined
Heart beats for, beats for time


For patience, patience for Death,
For Her cold-graved understanding,
Longing for the ghost-gloomed gaze
From Her insouciant eyes


Her moon-kissed luminosity whispers
    Kiss me with your living lips
   Worship me with your waning soul


Wandering pale amid Night’s
Sleep-persuading sounds
Ethereal with sanguine purpose


But the lofty-aired breath
Is not made for immortality,
My sun-scorned love


For your ambivalent soul is destined
For neither starry Heaven
Nor fiery Hell

© 2019 Clay F. Johnson