A stand-off between grass and moon
marginalized the perfume of night.
I was standing to read the graffiti
written by light and shade.
The planted kiss, the embrace,
the trembling legs have bricked in the trapped saint.
Where were the stars leading you
for the journey to the end of the bruises?
Some coarse absence of winged thoughts
had continued presence.
It was blankness without emotion, without movement.
Can you think without the past,
without the future?
Step-by-step the malice,
the lie within the lie unfolds.
Gives a deliberate shock of self knowledge
I count the bonfires on the hills.
Coming up to unfog the sky.
