In the Moonlight

I sit alone in the night.
I play my songs for you.
You blow against the tall-tasseled
grasses like you were wind.

Cars pass by
on the gravel road
twenty-five yards away
raise the dust against their red brake-lights
as they drive down the hill

never knowing
that I sit alone
and play my songs for you.

You.

No pick in hand
fingers and thumb
moving up and down
swaying to the sounds
of the tall-tasseled grasses.

And the shadow
of my curly hair
casts on the paper
like one side of a conifer

as I write
as I sit alone/in the moonlight
and trade your memory
for the sound of my voice.