That cloudless night by the waning light of a tired moon
The poet stole across the town (Sleeping, always sleeping and dreaming, never dreaming)
A shadow and a shade
A ghost that just was made
Creeping across the common, past the bridge and past the fountain

He pushed his wheelbarrow forward through the gloom
And rested by the river where
He could see the stone
The shape of it alone
Made him grasp his heart
An artist when his art
Stares back at him, a fount of living inspiration

The stone, he brought it home beneath the secrecy of night
The thief cometh like the Lord
Into his house where it was stored
He crept into the dreams of the townspeople
Like a knife into a vein
Or a rope around a throat