moon.

in the echoes

to the moonrise

and flowers 

they look like hand-bones,

eclipsed into cursive

cold-blooded writ;

lucent dream

a pilgrimed father

at the seabed of darkness,

his bones

touch

the skull-fish;

the ghost of owl

forgets his repetitions

it holds its wings

into the winter moon

blood-red, it rooks

the dying

and the tree,

you are merely mind, if not memory

into a lungless wind.

© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

Written for the Go Dog Go Cafe Prompt: Write a piece of prose or poetry around the words cursive, touch, and forget.

19 thoughts on “moon.”

  4. kaykuala

    the ghost of owl forgets his repetitions
    it holds its wings into the winter moon

    The ghost of the owl can do their twitting the way different from their normal. A good twist in story-line Lucy!

    Hank

    Liked by 3 people

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