September 14, 2019

• moondust

  

  it's only in the dark
  that i believe i can move like a silken cloth
  buffing the silver moonlight
  and polishing the dream i hold in my hands.

  threads of light, strained through my palms,
  float in the air.

  dawn is a mile off to the east.
  when my house gets there,
  a hard edge of fire
  cuts the night's restraint

  and my dream thrashes
  in my grasp like a moth, then vaporizes,

  leaving my hands flecked with moon-dust

  • 5:54 am
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