RUMOURS IN THE AIR.

I know what we’ll do,
Once my day is done,
And yours has just begun:
We’ll tell each other tales of us
And keep them from ourselves;

So when the moon
Is looming
Over me,
As if
For whispers
Soft,
I’ll rustle up a juicy bit of gossip

And in the crossing
Borders of luminosity,
That often nocturnal orb
Will gravitate towards the
Golden one and pass it on,

And as the sun
Is coming
Up to you,
As though
To wish you
Well,
It will spill my tittle-tattle in your ear,

And so you’ll know
The thoughts I grow,
And can repeat your own
For me to hear at sunrise,
And neither of us will be wiser.