I have known the sun and moon together waltz into eclipse,
and watched the stars toward the light
as each fades away or slips
like, across horizon's bar
minuscule and passing ships--
each on oceanic drifts.
And the sun and moon alike will whisper words arcane and rare,
and secrets speak of death and life
as insubstantial as the air
like, almost, the passing breezes,
almost absent, weirdly fair,
or an oceanic drift.