
clouds dance around
the gibbous moon’s bright orb,
one warm winter night.

clouds dance around
the gibbous moon’s bright orb,
one warm winter night.

the moon is hazy;
whether it’s the clouds or
my mind, I can’t say.

city, nightfall:
the temple’s fierce creatures
turn nightmare shapes.

The pounding sound of rhythmic drums shatters stillness this eve. I know not whether snares are banged to celebrate or grieve. The pace isn't slow enough to guide a somber procession, nor does it race at the pace of jocular expression. It's a well-kept beat, approaching, that makes the windows shake, but seems suitable only for keeping me awake.




beyond the buildings
lies pure blackness; night
blankets the city.