NaPoWriMo #23 – Aurora

Pouring out
to a chassis, nakedly derisive
I refill my jar, slower than before.

Beads of moss cling to the insides
as if they never wanted
to let go, in the first place.

Tiny hands, tiny feet –
star spangled woven
in their hem of beams:

why do you cling,
who do you cling for
and how do you do so

even after you’ve lost
to the complacency
of moonbeams?

© Zelda Reville


Day 23. Contemplation as I gaze into the abyss of a white computer screen.

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