apad 21

I follow the trail of pomegranate seeds
slick with juice and uncovered by the full moon.
I think to myself, walking through the soft breeze,
that someone seems to have been nibbling on myths.

There is a slight scurry of small animals in
the Aprilgrown fresh greenery still low
to the ground but the dreams of lush
majesty in warmer days.

There is no sudden end to the trail
just a gradual dispersal of old
godthought and demons hidden
between the moon and skyline

I turn like a clumsy raptor to
nibble the beauty of you in the night.