Paris Moon

The marbled orb of the full moon lifted
itself across the rooftops last night.
Tell me: how many sleepless faces
gazed at the mask of its reflected light,

how many hearts ached and were seized
by the pull of its angry tide,
how many spirits longed for release,
and how many lips sighed?

Know, my love, that in the early morning hours
before the eastern dawn shadowed the moon,
I was awakened before my time
by the melody of a child’s simple tune;

and you, sleepless, stood at the window,
like a saint, listening to the bells toll.
Tell me: did you inhabit the countless faces
with the flood tears of your enormous soul?