Transfigured Night (a reimagining)

A man wanders the banks of the river glade, no foot prints travel with his own. Alone with the moon she pulls the winds through his ears, whispering of the ocean trapped in his eyes, he can not see. In the distance, a woman appears from silver rays. He runs to her like the river running to fill the sea. He meets her eye to eye, beat to beat. He notices the little things familiar; her pale hair filling the rivulet; her aura silk and soft lighting the forest’s hearth. In her arms the stars she cradles, most waiting to be wishes, some waiting to be words for legends, the few waiting to be like their father sun, waiting to labor rays across his domain to thaw the dark. She speaks with a fragile voice, a voice like maple and spruce crooning in the gale, but breaking.
 
“The very first time I remember you, you are red clay rising from the earth, no heart to bring you thought, but wings to bring you to me. The next time, a wilderness shines in your baby blues, a new heart not ready to return. I remember most fondly, when in youth, you tell me stories at night, of the days I can’t exist, you share the secrets, the sorrows, of those who tread in light. I never give up trying to guess what your eyes shall hold each life, for even the lives you don’t exist, my fire burns for you. But as I wait to see you next, I birth new stars, their father, the sun.”
 
The moths around them dance upon their rising silence. Her aura dims. She looks down where a flower of shade emerges from her feet. The hollow willow weeps for her, prays for her. The man speaks to brake the hush.
 
“When all is said and done, I’d still rather surrender to you. Each night in the sky I know I’ll see you again, but can not help but wonder, is this the last time? Is that really you when your reflection transforms? And what if you are already perfectly content, hanging in the nil of night? Ah, but I don’t blame you. I may never burn as brilliantly as you. I would rather be the one to chase you across ten, fifty, a hundred sunsets, until I find the visage I can return to you. I hold no ire for your star children, for they have granted my every wish; they have written down my history so you may be brought to me in this place, in person; they have lit the galaxy to remind me, I exist for you. In my times my ambition ends my inspiration. Yet always, you forgive me as if you understand the human mystery. Let your flames blaze forever, a blind moon can not pull the sea. Let your pale face gleam, so we may find our threads each time again, among lofty twilight.”
 
The man approaches the moon closer to embrace her slender form. Her luminosity blooms, parapetting time’s hold. The night lasts eternally, as they ride the breeze to the ocean.     
 
The greenwood sky
Begins to sing,
cicadas heavy
with their dreams.