Moon Month reflections

We shape ourselves, chiseled
from inherent potential
with the cutting edge
of life.
I too have stories
unbelievable as fiction
creeping through dream imagery
holding dripping red candles
broken bits of mirror
tiny rips in red, red fabric
bleeding
I cannot breathe this story
I cannot hold a heartbeat
or a cogent thought
or pulse to a level
bearable
Beaten into rubble
crazed in simple sunlit
afternoon as if a moon
were racing in
stolen arteries
We all have known this story
O
I feel the movement
pain and resolution
caught in the pattern
released in the dance

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