I stepped to the sea for St Lawrence's tears
but no Perseid showers were falling;
not even in the fishpond, inspected close as I might;
no ripple. No showing. No movement. No calling.
It's not his time to weep.
The first quarter moon is not at fault.

So, great is this sign, with the waxing and my
illumined delight in this vault –
this precious, this brightly dark vault.
No tears show tonight, for the immanent light
of Selene overreaches my vault.

No singularity. Moody waxing of moon.
Wu wei. Such sweetness. No fault.