could be full  (moon)

the moon is vagabonding
like every night
drunk as an old poet
and allways silently (true poets know how to stay silent when drunk)
appears
out of nowhere
every single night deserts beg him for the tide
and seas for the ebb
but he, drowned in giddiness
most of all
likes to watch
the street lights glimmering on earth
his own women
wawing with their glossy high-heels
they're allways inviting him to align
'cause women like poets