Life and Loss

The moonlight dances

on the leaves

of the palm trees in the wind.

First it’s a slow dance —

now it’s a jig,

then it’s free expression,

now it’s my kind of gig.

I fancy a cha cha

or a cucaracha,

or some kind of infra dig improvisation,

now there’s the stations of the Cross,

I’m in delight at this dance,

of shadow and light,

the moon light so bright

and this timeless insight

into life and loss.