Moon's Metaphor

Has memory betrayed me?
Argent herald of passing night,
who once dominated my sky,
casting Seraphim on every bough
your anointed lips caressed?
Was it the amorphous haze of my Vienna,
Cold shadows of our apathetic Leningrad?
For now, even in the mountains' recess--
my pensive isolation--
You feel so withdrawn, diminished,
obscured to clouded mirrors.
Gone is the wonder, lost to a
lachrymose labyrinth
Of stars // An ocean
to drown
the child
who beheld an endless expanse...
now bequeathed
sorrow of skies devoid
of anything but flickered
phonographic reflections,
Souls diluted through
sieved urban sprawl,
Of regret, Of metaphor,
Of many moons past.

Author's Note

Went into the mountains to take pics of the moon...