We get them fairly blue here too
(don’t miss the pale day moon on the right)

A pale day moon rises over the trees,
Love’s silver thumbprint, that faint identification
Of who we are who listen, listen, trying
Phrase by phrase to score familiar voices,
Dream, touch, remembrance. A hushed afternoon,
That symbol rising faintly over the world,
These visions of you refracted from common daylight–
My mind has played the body’s music gladly
You nap in the next room, about to waken.
A pale day moon rises over the trees.

Paul Smith