An Evening In May Poem by Leon Moon

Within sound's eternal valleys
Copper halls ring and equators spread,
Rising flatly to constance or dread —
Harp's tune music to the Ocean's bed.

Swans pluck strings on their open wings
And expose gold behind red and white
Garlands, draping the rhythms of sight
Hanging in the Sun's beacons of light.

Falling, falling, falling, to night,
As stern recitals moulded by rings
Freeze what the palate of bone sings —
Much how all mind came from brainless things?

The rib-bone flood tilts, enough said,
Half-shut, left eye Moon's drip on seas,
Emitting waves of stale liberty,
Hardening future eternity…

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Seas gossamer flesh of violet and white
Said to the Sun dissolving in grey wings,
"Eternity reposes in the dead,
Brings guarantee to bright luxuries"…