Walk east of the sun, and west of the moon,
they said, as if I cared for directions,
or anything else. I walked pathways strewn
with broken starlight, on rose tipped oceans,
watched crimson winged doves sip rage. “Follow me,”
they said, as if I cared for directions
when my heart bled stones. An old willow tree
cradled me; I wept my dark distress,
watched crimson winged doves sip rage. “Follow me,”
whispered the moon, handing me a soft dress
bound in a nut. The moon’s tender shadows
cradled me. I wept my dark distress.
begged the sun for news. He draped my sorrows
with forgotten dreams. Following commands,
bound in a nut, the moon’s tender shadows
seized me, until I did not know my hands
or anything else. I walked pathways strewn
with forgotten dreams, following commands:
walk east of the sun, and west of the moon.
