To T.

Full moon, what's your song to me tonight?
Not of my lover, who with me till now
Has gazed upon you, lavishing your brow 
With magic I’d thought yours! You’re staring white, 
A floodlight, now—all mystery wrung out 
By two dulled minds. You ridicule the light 
That I reflected on you, sparked by him 
Across the miles, his fervor no more dim 
For all the distance. Once, transcendent height 
Had pulled our far-flung heartstrings in a knot 
Of shared observance and enchanted thought.
But just this noon, his manner grew profane, 
And now, past midnight, you, though full-blown, wane 
Into a pock, a puck, a laundry spot.