Blood moon

Full  moon an orange orb

hung low in smoky night

church bells chime the hour

I dream a ghostly vista

where horses speak & sea rises

phosphorescent.

Before is as nothing.

Sand through fingers

the echo of a

once loved voice

distant now

you swim in pattern

fingers arching for hand hold

you fall into each morning

caught like falling leaves

craving warmth,

as I do.