In candid silence,
we come closer, and
healing begins.

Where the moon
bends, I take revenge
on night, fumbling
with the garter stitches.

And what a poem
will do, without
touching your eyes in tears?

Star weavers want
to knit purple moon on your
veil before you walk
away as a bride.

Don't keep your
mind empty. Somebody will
put a newly born
to fill in thought.