.
She was a soft moon baby,
she cried an easy golden light,
where Bach bled blue beneath
a brass bed full of stars.

Remember the mornings when even death felt small?

The pain in your little white eyes
comes from the little white lies
which the winter wind refused to sweep away.

Yet you left the French doors to your soul
standing wide open.
"Were you born in a barn?
But her smile sure makes living easy,
and December seems so ancient
on the African plain.

Chaos simmered slowly
on her sweet apricot lips, as a lion
catches rain from her native tongue.

Cat bones dot the desert while their
souls are off hunting alone.
Life is life and on the run--where the mellow
milky moonlight crashed on the midnight sun..