That big ‘ole moon

it pulls the tide

orange from my

window, massive

above roof top.

I dream of

children

days gone by

& you

as ever;

a mirage

lost in time.

I search

my library

of love:

no hope

I’ll find

one of you

worthy.

That orange

moon’s

miasma

moves inside

poised

on equinox’s

shoulder:

green sprigs

from brittle

mind

earth spins

its next

sunrise.

Your love

brings

no respite &

still I yearn

for truth

but truth

I find

is broken.