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Troy
December 15, 2023
I prayed to a Cassandran moon
--that tomorrow I would dream of night
and nothing else. Silvery songs of satire would not
embark my windowpane, down by the daylight
Till that moment, I would be soaked
in the mere tint of Formalin.
When I accuse you of being non-existent under the moon
would you defend and prove me wrong within?
The branches had been cut, and holes filled in. Now the moon
it penetrates through my crevice and releases its pain
so that I would be full.
Full and healthy and sane
as if I will not dream again.
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