tonight has no moon and yet the moon is the sun my star has bled for. the very thing all things are bred for.
the elusive wonderment of a moment
to die for. to live so fiercely, that the night is daylight
and all joy is a nail in a palm frond.
And every ghost a friend
pruning your figs
before the sharks come
to pluck your jelly from the heavy vines
your April wrought
in the September of your too many
orchards.

like chasing oceans to quench a stone. Life is a perfect imperfection. It does the thing that loves you most as you hate and undoes the whimsy of your desires
to satisfy an unknowable beauty
that knew your name
before flowers knew bees
were not
slaves.