uncondictional
a word with a thousand reverberations
but all comes back to me
like a brutal slap across the face,
the hand mark a certificate
for dissipated love
redirection, misdirection,
but instincts never stay long
in some strange place.
they always fly back home
i wish the moon were home,
its planetary lullaby soothing me
to sleep, to dream,
but there are only grey dreams
in a brusied light.
the cold empty shuts me out into orbit,
searching for the floating cradle