JAN.28 2006 2:30 AM
I used to write about the moon.
Hiding
intertwined with crippled toungues
unfounded by those
who seek the night
on its hour of solitude
as it weeps
to your ground.
And your ground
hails my cellar;
talks to my shadow to say
you LEFT
inside me…
but the moon, still the same moon,
wanted but unnoticed
Hiding.
Behind crippled trees
seeks me,
to find you
inside the casted fishnets,
of my basin seas.
Holding away from sweet thorns,
which used to sing every pricking
which used to dance and play my song:
Will you love me,
like you loved agony
when you wept;
and hate me,
like you hate missery
when I cried?
And tonight, I begged
the moon
to make me write again
HIding.
Behind crying trees
seeking me.
Finding you,
where I find the casted fishnets
of my basin seas
playing with paperboats…
And I’ll sail to you,
and stop hiding
