Grape Arbor

A Sheppard's moon herds woolen clouds across the sky.

In this darker night, several structures loom.

A barn, a stable, outbuildings.

With haste he passes among them.

The lowing of cows and soft whickering of horses

Are not a sign of his intrusion,

But more the natural order.

Beds of roses,

An abandoned bicycle on its side,

And then there is the grape arbor;

Entwined with vines, clothed with leaves, and hung with fruit.

The Sheppard's moon seems to find space for this.

For it glows with a sinful purity.

A cautious step after another

Brings him close enough to see the dew tears

More perfect than diamonds.

A tentative hand speaks louder than any word

As he plucks just one royal orb,

And starts along his way again.