Brightly, as though a master electrician had flipped a switch and
Illuminated the Medieval courtyard I was inhabiting at the time.
The unenlightened believed it was the sun that had turned the air
White like halogen.
But I could see on my special screen — the one provided by the engineer — that
The cleansing glow was from the moon,
Round and pockmarked and insistent.
I cannot say how the story ends,
Because to my dismay
I won’t be there.