The Moon
The lament of the unrequited world
Sounds ruffles of blinding temper along
Treble sands; gulls breast hunger in hollow
Cries and fits of azure. Sand echoes
The lay of repeating tides, unmooned.
Dusk and dim, I lean my breath close; for all
That my voice is wet with light, this pale
Feeling frosts but a few sands. Patient shells
I leave abandoned to the burn of time.
I exhale orbs of shine and rhythm
Acknowledgement on the shells beneath
This twilight of soft breath, soothing the dust.
Soon I starve for air and wane so empty;
Lapsing in to a moment of inhale,
I torture the world with my breath once more.