The night is a cold loose shawl that dangles over our shoulders.
It has a secret we are yet to discover
and it shows it through the clouds and the moon.
The moon is a wide grin,
a full circle,
a white and dusty pill.
It hides between clouds,
spying over the mountains,
watching from a far.
It thinks we will hurt it.
We cage the beauty
and mock the ghastly
and everyone that falls in between.
My fingers sink into screens,
falling forward like drips of rain into the concrete.
I am locked to my body
and it feels like a casket
and I panic.
A man plays inside my home.
I can hear his hands move skittishly against the guitar,
distinctly out of tune.
It rustles in the air like stretching leaves in the wind.
The music rapids through me like waves crashing to the shore.
and I bleed into the background scared.
In a crowded place,
I watch a lady dance
and hear the beads in her hair patter upon her bony chest.
Her smile is wide like a crescent moon.
Her silhouette swims out in front of her,
circling endlessly like leaves over departed souls,
soaring up and down;
Her arms flick against it,
She moves like a dying flower caught in the wind.
She is the sky.
She snaps and decays against the cool misty air.
The people progress around her,
they seal her secret with their working bodies.
They are like fleeting clouds,
and I was their moon