I sing silently to the dying of a moon, blazing over the horizon
My own blood beneath my nails, watching it sink down into the fields yet again.
I know it will rise again like a ball of white velvet.
I trust the fields to relinquish the moon once more.
They always have before… Or so my loves tell me.
The conviction of my loves gives me hope I will embrace the moon again.
Constellations…
Now constellations are another thing...entirely.
