My moon soul whispers
of tell-tale dread
among the dead…
silent
screams
unseen
in the empty
gray sunrise.

A bone howl.

Dusk spirits scatter
through the broken storm.

Bitter is the lightning.
Dreadful their thunder.

A passing
crow cloud
is cawing for earth
death
by
crypt and cellar:
I shudder between them
within a dream.

Quoth the sky:
“Dawn is but a midnight’s cry
softening to a whimper.”