Jon Nakapalau

the moon you left

Is a hive of ghostly bees,
That sting in dreams never promised:
Slow and humming past this brokenness.

You were always past any depth;
And drowning in the past
That was only shown -

Milky light drowning,
This was your only gift...
Left in pools of cadaver glow.

But still I tended the comb of
Bitter spaces that you
Promised to share.

It is gone
With your promise -
Octagonal lost forever.