Dream gasp
in a Moonchild’s wasteland.
That amaranthine bay so very far away.
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Where the Waves no longer crash upon the coarse Earth for they both understand
that even the faintest of
whispers could solve hatreds big picture.
You were there.
In the midst of brush strokes while singing about high hopes.
My lovely keeper, you watched as my bones sank
far beneath the crooked Earth.
here I now lay
where the oriole is king
and the heart’s greatest sting
is knowing that the Ancients too
weep for their now lost mortal lovers.
