Sun turnstiles
and I am revolving
around you. In orbit,
you do not glow, glitter,
or emanate a light source,
life source. You are a moon,
created out of cataclysm, but
reflecting light nonetheless
you are the center.
Writer in San Francisco, CA

She claws her way out
of hell, Cerberus howling
breeze warms frigid air
Young buds stretch for blossoming
birds fluttering in the trees
Sun turnstiles
and I am revolving
around you. In orbit,
you do not glow, glitter,
or emanate a light source,
life source. You are a moon,
created out of cataclysm, but
reflecting light nonetheless
you are the center.