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The faded moon
July 23, 2019
I bought your favorite biscuits,
walked towards the new dusted state
while my feet listened to your
ancestor's stories.
You, digged the echoes of your past
and painted into mine.
So the flower will bloom
even in blurred days.
The moves on the other world
is never the same as our hours.
It came as the monsoon comes,
sluggishly, vividly, and lushly.
You whispered when black swans
clenched in the murkiness
Of the dusty walls of life that;
My parents first made love here.
© Siobhan M., Peterborough, NH
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