How Dire the Moonlight Shining

How dire the moonlight shining
on windowpanes and rooftop shingles
the plain things overlooked
in day to daylight brightness.
How pale and weak this
thing that hangs and stains
the night in loneliness,
sad blue night
clouds drifting,
stars obscured
but hoping,
holding breath
pining to catch your eye.
How dire the hunter’s moon
full of wasted allure
the folk all shun the cold
and ignore your brilliance
and the significance
of the winter’s
isolation.