Dillon

Field awash in moonlight,

moonlight just before the sun

moments from morning…

 

Tortured memory hunts – skittering

past the wall

built between my self and I

alighting below the shadows of my Am.

 

Poet’s soul snared

by murders iron leg trap enclosed –

Strength of the All.

Field follows through my waking

silvering the world

burying beauty in supreme despair.

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