a summer in hell:

Written with no ink, no blood.

Written in footprints on the shore.

Temporary, as the tide rolls in.

My mood rises with the moon as well.

To me she is a mother nursing.

But I cannot tell you why.

It lingers on my tongue

when I think about the evening sky.

Lightly freckled with starlight.

It was beautiful,

like so many things that taught me.

As the footsteps brought me around.

Gently drumming intention.

The eyes of Abaddon.

Gazed across fields of ash.

Favorite amongst God’s insects.

Skittering through the blight.

I could burn like cascading

petals.

Red as her blood.

Though I knew it all dried brown.

Flesh hanging off bone, waving.

There is no nation for this flag.

The blood too fresh. It will never dry.

No matter how much wind blows,

across these ruined plains.