At night I don’t dream
Upon the moon
an endless room awakens me
an endless empty room
full of the thousands of breath I will have stolen
from a child I briefly knew
The setting sun breaks
the horizon into two judgments
that we have done and that we will not
and the pieces too small to pick up
the pieces of me…me
POETRY is a hard-won battle
Between author and artist
it’s funny to know so little is known about such beast
And here I sit with my little cup
(no milk for me—I need the caffeine)
I think
‘the endless room, the endless room
is waiting’
I think
‘THE END’
