A pussycat jumped over the moon
soon she realized the moon was nothing
but her own cocoon,
that noon braided in silver tread of her hair
that she in midnight have strewn.
The moon was a mirror lagoon
a cocoon of afternoon
in the parallel perplexed of now an soon,
swaying on the swing of a tune,
a crescent of silver blooms, a festoon
to attune the parallels of noon and moon.
