Veins in a haunted sky
Silence in a shifting sky
A burning eye

In a dying sky.

It is stilled motion. A dark and bruised winter night.
The wasted scraps of transparent clouds brush against
The white marble fire of moon, trapped in the wicked twisted
Branches of Solitarity (a magnificent dying tree, how sad it is
Mummified under thousands of serpent-like vines).

Somewhere is an unheard sobbing…

The afterbirth of dreams slide like hourglass sand and
Fall from right to left, against the backdrop of Divine Inspiration.

Standing alone
I witness these lukewarm ghosts seeking a steadfast home

Under the Bedstuy moon.