wane
May 19, 20261 min read
eavy head
no turn of phrase to stay the dread
no shedding weight for the road ahead
you lit me up like a beacon
we’re steepled across the empty space between us
lensing time, laden
the latent shore to meet us
i have no present tense
stippled across the place we rest
beautiful apparition
inviting superstition
attune to me
i can’t see straight ahead anymore
i’m looking back at a bright light
a semaphore
beckoning me to turn like a moth to the moon
beckoning me to an end
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