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Dawning Dusk and Colloquies with Moondust

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Silvery silhouettes of you, I see,
at a dawning dusk.

Sometimes whole. At times, crescent.
Intermittently invisible with a pale loop of light.
Seldom bent. Rarely, a distortion.
Every so often, new. Is that you?
How I wish I get to see you in person too?

I’ve gathered grainy moondust from
years gone by, in shiny crumpled
foils; folded neat, held safe —
in a corner of my sky.

I visit this phantasmal
sky of mine, often…
despite the racking agony,
to converse with you…
through the dry moondust.

Each time I unlock this flaky foil,
an acrid aroma greets me,
layer by layer.

I scatter the dust…
… I write your name
with my index finger.

When I see your name,
I am compelled to recollect our:
patient yearnings for…