When the moon floats out serene,
Let us launch a boat and leave.
Let the waves lap at the bow;
There will be a little wind, no doubt.

If we venture far from shore,
No doubt we will find darkness there, and hear
the friendly sound of water off the oars--
     In the spaces torn between your words.

Let the moon prick up his ears.
Let him sink a little nearer.
When our lips meet in a kiss,
Let him be there, just above our heads.

You will speak again, some silly
thing, some ill that makes you frown and pout.
I will listen, letting nothing spill--
     But my rowing hands I will not stop.

When the moon floats out serene,
Let us launch a ship and leave.
Let the waves lap at the bow;
There will be a little wind, no doubt.