27

You, the deer I rest upon

Where the doe’s lofty limbs lie

As a star sighs its perishability

Its brilliance

I blame it on the day moon

Sun loves greatly but once

With its buttons and decoration

Fastened to a discourse between Earth’s waters and God’s

Unconditional silence

Does he still press his ear to the ground to search for us?

I buried our prayers under grounds of all the crumpled green wishes

Fast everlasting burial

Where winter weds flower again

Either through prophets or by dreams

Their god making machines

I blame it on the day moon