The Moon Makes Silver

I open my window letting in the moonlight 
I see an owl on a moonbeam flight 

The moon makes silver on my pillow
Runes scatter on the weeping willow 

My window dusted with dreams open
Night blooms hold my words, unspoken 

Calligraphy of the cosmos in the skies
Changes the color in my eyes

Only the November wind between me and the sky
And all the nature I can descry.