Poetry
01 / 22
11/1
The lines, drawn long and taut,
describe a circle high above,
weaving the sky
horizontally, then vertically.
The name of the stardust
embroidered there
will one day be forgotten.
Among black weeds
stretching toward the heavens,
I forced the night,
line by line, into verse.
And just like that,
the moon
faded from view.