Yes, Cie, the sun’s touch may heat, tan and burn us, but the veiled harmless mirror face of the moon really touches us. It is one of the symbols of Romanticism, inspiration for composers, poets and lovers.

The picture in your piece reminds me of the paintings of Turner. His wild clouds, his ships in the storm, his peaceful moonlit nights over a harbor. Here is one, with all the beautiful details — the bright moon, the wild clouds, ships waiting with drying sails, and the action on the right side, lit by a fire. Again, the picture is the poem, writing about it feels like dancing architecture, to paraphrase a famous expression.

And thus the touching chain continues. I meant to write a poem in response, but poems are like cats, they live their own life when you call them, and sit in your lap when you do not want them to.

Friend of life and beauty and foe of spoilers of life and beauty. Golden marriage. Grandfather. Pianist and micro poet. Dutch, European.

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