Moon things, the very thing, that makes naked
Whole, again.
Things are slow and the wind is not the wind,
Blows in weak, waits to unwind in paradise.
Such a deathly memory, slaying the stars,
A soul, a less spirit trapped- in agony;
In dark days, before us, turns off to earthly crying.
The sad has said it is gone to yellow sap,
To the unrefined, yellow stings
Of weeping willows - white, disaster
Pounds of fever that has split the most loving things.
Gone with meteors all the ignorance passes quietly to shame -
Ignorance shaken like pure water (its voice) downpours in cascades -
It - all, just falls so tenderly - in our breaking souls.
copyrighted 2010
