Dusk bleeds light into the torniquet of night
scored by the echoes of the raven’s cries,
their pleas and petitions ignored by Theia
in an unscripted silence known only to
a scoured and shadowed moon whose lies,
told by laurel, cinder-laced clouds, tints in
gathered admonition to your body’s aura and
and its projections – who could know such voids?
For even siblings of heaven cannot perceive
the station your heart resides in sighs
where nightfall rests in the Hallway of time.

© Thespian Drummer / Shadowed Moon