The Full Moon Crafts Vistas New

The snow moon peels off layer after layer

the overhanging dense dark, the gloomy visage

of hoary winter.

The silvery beams reveal core of

an infinite arch above a comatose

earth

buried under banks of pale snow;

the bared topaz-blue touched with the white

of the lunar breath

creates a tropical lake with a glowing heart,

up in those empyrean heights; waves faintly

heard by a passing ascetic.

The cumulus clouds massed on the serrated

edges of

the shimmering immensity,

stand forlorn and outcast, driven out there by

the

frigid winds to those liminal thresholds;

dim firs condensed together

as spatial shadows

from

the Fields of Mourning, first

witnessed by Virgil,

the diffused light, this late hour,

illuminates

the crooked trail to a hut on the hill

where tribal songs are echoed by the

pines with grey hairs, as the wolves

close in.

Sunil Sharma
Painting Ernest Lawson