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

I saw her at the
Crossroads, black dog at her heel
A torch in her hand
Another drink, a day gone
Torch burning in the darkness
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.