Moonstruck

I may not know why rivers run

Without pride and their shadows soft

But last night away from the moon

I cried for what I secretly know

It may have been the lonesome owl

Perched atop the barren oak tree

Or the smoke from a seasoned chimney

Burning woods of past proud trees

And I knew then that a poem

Was like the old woods burning slow

As if memories crackling and warm

I once cherished and are now smoke

Yet I do not want to hear or know

Why rivers run to find their sea

Last night hiding from the moon

I secretly smiled for a long while

January 18, 2015

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2015