Once again the moon

has turned red

as if it is a sign of fertility

and lovers walk the garden beds.

“Oh what a cliche!” She laughs and looks at me.

I watch a couple kiss in the bloody moonlight.

She says; “I have written a poem, would you like to hear?”

I nod and try to feel her body through her dress.

She holds a page up to the moon

but it is too weak to read by-

she tries to remember the words.

Make the river muddy to hide the lack of depth

then people may think you wise.

The moon begins to clear

and lovers move away across the garden beds

looking up with soft sighs

with love and foolish eyes.