tell me about the moon there
I want to know if we see the same
is it well-rounded?
do you see her face?

the moon smiles at me
in complicated ways
tells me peace does exist
but, what as she seen?
so far away

so I want you to tell me
about your moon,
the one you might looik up at
and see something different
through your clear eyes

do you find peace?
do you see the woman
looking down at you?

I've heard and read
many legends about her,
but I only want to know yours;
so, please, show me your moon.

all the red spilled,
like ink,
like paint,
a canvas.

it was thick
and resembled
the loss
the anger
the hate
an endless pain

red was spilled,
it stained fingertips, nails,
it dug out and carved
into porcelain
into steel
its laments and fury

how to protect
from the red
from the spilled