commission of the week.

light soft from the moon 

his footsteps haltingly point 

forward to the girl 

beautiful wrapped 

she stands still breathing the night 

white hands are folded 

trees hide his identity  

breeze muffles the sound 

he tiptoes closer

in his mind, a fantasy 

his arms around her 

& he suddenly comes forth

the revealing of himself 

hiding in the woods 

identity no secret 

in awe she's standing 

her own lovely face surprised

then as if frightened 

she turns & she runs 

never looking back, she fades 

illusions, a dream.

& him, sitting down 

head in his hands, defeated 

the love in his heart 

the moonlight soft still

the wind in the trees, gentle 

he looks to the sky 

a star falls & speaks 

he smiles, & continues home 

the love burns quiet now.