WATCHER

The crescent moon flew on the wing
a blade of living, loving, light.
To harvest up a stand of souls
who hearts lay open listening.

The watcher gathered in his grain
all golden with serenity.
He poured the honey of his breath
upon his children's hair.

He flew unseen within that night
of perfect secret emptiness.
The watcher only was at hand
to take those shapes of blessed grace.

The hopeful hungry penitent
who begged and  bowed and sought in vain.
Has been undone.
The master has unmade the doll

And now there's only one.