Hour #11 Changes

 

The glooming arrives earlier

now, dropping like a curtain

along the path of the rising moon.

 

This is when we most expect silence

but the city isn’t quiet, nor

are the woods. And tonight, weirdly,

 

the full moon begins to wail. My heart

drops at the sound, as I know I’m complicit.

I’ve remained silent to a crime being

 

perpetuated for eons. There is no

separating blame. The wound is too old.

It’s time to tell the moon our stories.