The moon's pockmarked-
But it's in my dreams,
Deeply etched, though invisibly.
Twining there, like an alien cheese;
Or latent philosopher's sketchy scheme,
Looking me down many-silvered streams.
I'd embrace the moon, and never loose
My heart, from it's moth-eaten lace,
Just to see that visage rare;
A single view of his only face.
Patti Masterman
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-only-face/
