Writer In the Dark

One night the moon whispered her secrets
into the breeze, 
who carried it in a song 
to blow though the trees 

There it settled 
with it's constants and vowels 
Then away flew the moon's words 
on the wings of an owl 

Her voice traveled a great distance 
till the little bird reached light 
There through the window 
was a writer in the night 

So out perched the bird, 
words whoo-ed into the silence 
to be picked up by a candle's flame, 
to reach the writer's iris 

It was then in the dark 
that the ink flowed onto a page 
It was then in the dark 
that the author's mind blazed 

Times goes by 
and we read these words, finely tuned 
from the writer in the dark, 
the messenger for the moon