A dark moon shines, dead of night, invisible to the naked eye. Mounted with power we wait, a quest of
dreams deep. There is a secret unspoken: The best creation comes from
in the sad reprieve, the fluttering grief of our darkest hour.
They spoke of crossing over. The nebulous abyss where flesh meets ellipsis where all is suspended yet worlds create a spectrum of connected mind.
Do you miss them?
I do, I said. And I know for I have lost many.
Brought down in candlelight clean white hospital sheets silent drip padded sneakers of nurses in the hall.
I care for dusty remnants fresh flowers moss covered stone. Urns and ashes dates and places to remind me
they have left