Nocturnes

And again the habit of old showers
Draws one here to the grave,
Also the touch of sprinkling leaves.
A faint tune resounds down the walk of memory,
As the river gurgles
Of a circular dream, still wet from last night.

Away they float towards a common cause,
On a sheet of icy water laden with the promise of time,
With a mirror of musing clouds for company,
Sharing their first kiss and their last dance.
In murky yellows and rushing reds they spin on,
Carrying with them a trembling word from me.

Elated skies open up in further joy.
Waxing gibbous, that ancient nocturnal lover,
Raises her face, ever betrothed to her beloved earth.
If only I could witness their capricious journey,
Or fade, away, into the drowning ocean,
And sleep, sleep, my weary head upon your thirsty shores.

The grand orchestra of Nature plays on,
And I wonder how one can speak of love.
One oft finds the word too vast, too feeble,
Like a beaded thread under a mountain.
To even have lived amidst this music,
Is to have loved and died in one eternal moment.

Back home,
Chopin's nocturnes are played as if in final farewell.
And the abiding thunder in my mind
Pursues as if in a trance, its tender melody.
If one could choose a perfect moment to walk out of life,
This night would be the flower I'd pick.