I would tell you about matters of the moon:

the celestial ballrooms and the dances that

play on above us. How the fair lady frolics

with her colony of rabbits. If you let the

night breeze sway, it would carry to you

sparklers that fall like meteorites, memories

of fireworks from those lunar parties. 

At dawn, let the dew linger on your bones,

eroding your bark-

but on the riverbank, no wolf hunters will come.

All these concluded at dawn, before a dazzling sun

can eclipse the broken paths at your feet

and the laborers revive in a caffeined frenzy,

leaving you in the quiet of daylight’s solace