Blessed dying
like a fading moon―
with no watermark.
A candle\'s flame
makes a hole in your shaking hand.
Skids off― on the
unpaved dirt road, a sleep catcher.
Climbing on moon shaped
rocks for the final jump.
Comes like a throwback
dialogue, what you did not say.
I will go in the wings now.
It is your turn to come
on the stage.
A nameless baby was born
on paper. It has
become an epic.