Painting by Edvard Munch, 1895: "Moon Light" your soft hand trembles in mine no words are spoken we observe our ascending full moon as we have every month for forty years empyrean empress rises to her throne queen regent of the night sky reigning over brooding blue bay and melancholic mountains as predictable as death we again sit in our folding chairs whispering under our favorite tree anticipating the coming light show enjoying her long bridal veil shimmering in the existential ripples a nocturne of nebulous narratives stopping at the shore line stopping she inevitably will descend the shroud of shadow will cover the land comforted that tomorrow will awaken to a resplendent sun and next month will bring another full moon the doctor said three weeks so this will probably be our last your soft hand trembles in mine no words are spoken written 11 July 2023