brings me out of sleep to lift the window blind

and see the rocks and sprouting flowers doused in light.

Tufts of clouds the wind has pulled apart have blown

across the indigo to shroud the dazzling brilliance

of that radiant moon. To no avail—it shines right through,

causing leafless branches to trace their fragile patterns

on the dusty pale blue puffs.

I wonder if this silver washing over me

and on my chair is at last a longed-for blessing

that I cannot comprehend. I’ll sit and let it gleam,

hoping delicate slivers will remain until the morning

so that I will still remember this poem.