I built my house under the Sorrow Moon
In the season of shadows and ash
Where the dell
Veiled in waning willow
Cloaks the cold gray earth
There is no croak nor cry
No bleat nor bark
Where the sun has left its track
And daylight idles beyond the twilight
And the brooks have fallen asleep

Under the Sorrow Moon I built my house
In the season of shadows and ash
I closed my books and my shutters
And I closed my eyes
To listen for a song that I once heard
Of singing strings
And lilting laughter
Licking and leaping up
Like tongues of fire
Joyful sparks lighting the night

In the season of shadows and ash
I built my house under the Sorrow Moon
And listened for the song
I listened for the song
And I listened for a cry or a croak
And I listened for a bark or a bleat
And I listened for a burbling brook
And I listened for a whispering wind
And I listened for my bound up breath
And I listened for anything
Above the stumbling of my riven heart

– We will miss you, Uncle Dennis.

“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.”
I Corinthians 13:12