F u l l    M o o n  
		   a tale of rising tides of lightness
				-Jerral Sapienza

	Of the tales of a Greyer Yesterday, the Quiet Moon brought forth
her gentry... I know her not, they told me... A quieter man may well have
held his tongue.  But not I.  For in the flowing pace of the evening's
circled orb, my mind could keep no peace it didn't know.  Born hence on
waves in night's delicious bonds, no current could I there betray to lead
her more astray. Yea, not... My moon, my gracious gift most pleasant given
forth its day to night-- I wonder sometimes- wander, too, I say-- to know
yet question greater single paths... She rose tonight, her thin chiffon a
mist, more woman in her strong embellished way than all the rage of
pageants' passing dolls whose temporal pursuits of beauty leave them wan...

	Now well her own she stands above- before me- calling out in sweet
reflection all the days before whose evenings lit by luscious glow of
petaled shadows.  And in those faint reflections, hundreds mine, no nearer
do we come to sweet perfection, mem'ries borne to beam beyond the
bounds...  the full entrancing goodness drips from clouds to earth and
shows us yet another cast whose troupe we'd no idea stood stood before us,
well rehearsed and readied, awaiting only defter cues to plunge them
headlong into action-- faint and pure.

	So quiet then her boastless beam, no grief nor pompous gift she
bears, but only hangs above us there, a looking-glass of day's pretentious
gallant glow, an opportunity to show that more of life may one day know
the Full Moon in her own. . . 

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