Nestling in the arms of
blue sky, a young moon was asking
the questions―like the pages of moth-eaten
book― why did the blood ties
are ripped apart with the passage of time?

Of the same poles, at the
axis of rotation― two celestial bodies―
would not come near each other?

Following the heels of the
hunter, a small dog star sniffs at
the earth, a pale blue existence?

The entropion overwhelms. The
lashes were scarring the
vision?

The all was not one. I am
still standing at the gate,
bleeding like sun.