The size of the ladle is not the spoon,
it is why the night blankets like it’s day.
so tonight you may write about the moon
as it comes out to prove what you can’t say.
from the words that hide, write about its shade,
say elements of why it will not come
even while you write, let the ink just fade
See to it that your heart is in its home.
As the night feels fragile so is its wind
it can turn on the engines of pure lust
If not careful carry those who are winged
to the ferry where all muses can cost.
so pick yourself from the ashes that purr
write-out or not, there won’t be any score.