By Elvira

The Moon                    shines
clouds haloing, as a holy
Darkness,        Stars — Crowns of
those no longer here
Master Painter.           Sunrise.           Gone.
Diana               Gone.

The Hunter      looks for:

Open up clouds.          Apollo              rides
his chariot at
the MASTER’S             behest
Birds    tweeting —                  not the ugly phone
Peace.             The Ugliness
a bed.
You and the MASTER              unite.
Tears of the crushed   handed
to HE   who hears       ALL.

Moon gone.     Sherbet sky caresses
Mother Sky:
Bless the
whose sins

March 2016


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