The moon was there,
Not full, barely half,
Enough to lighten,
The edges, and the sky.

There I stood, looking
Impressed upon me,
The bordering line,
And,
I thought to myself,
This is what living is all about,
There is darkness,
There is light,
We fluctuate between the two,
And there is that great divide.

Outlines, in the vanishing light,
These and them all figures,
Floating in the nearing darkness,
Meant to disappear with, onset, of the night.

Night is when the dreamers,
In their element delight,
Caught between the two,
Even the two worlds do not suffice.