Beside the sea her eyes were stars
and she was me and love.
Together we perceive the fostered elements.
Timeless patches of dream from treason’s craft.
We are not alive.
Beside the sea we hold hands and think of night.
The berries of dawn are already dry.
Our thoughts are bruises and she will never hear me.
I am snuffed from the angel’s adornment,
light thrusted across the space of sleep.
Faith is merciless and predators abound in the dark.
They have stolen your truth, that lore of your poem.
Like a doomsday paparazzi, they ask stupid questions.
You will not answer. You were not there for me.
You are a bush of yellow flowers, frail and mostly bare.