…white, with the sound of moonlight

In the darkness, beyond the glass
white with the sound of moonlight
the water’s face is shimmering smooth
creeping vine and climbing roses
in the garden of memory
all the objects of the senses
interact and yet do not
the shadows are but passing thoughts
the presence of imagined dreams
confided only in the quiet evening air
it is but a moment through closed eyes
lingering in the melodies of a sad song
a handful of sand, a handful of stars
whispering an unbreakable promise
where transience speaks of one thing
while revealing of another
© Ann Bagnall