the moon hung slender
a curved fang
stabbing hungrily
at the restless waves

Sometimes we cross dead ends like cherry blossoms in the wind and wonder why we end up in empty space without any warning. Trying to light flames of regret or burning anger in hopes we can feel our way out of the void. If we could forever be as soft as we were when we came into the world we’d never forget the frailty of a butterfly wing
or others hearts. But we don’t, instead we harden and we hone as we become the barb in the wire, the ice in the stone.

the sun slept
indifferent to the
emaciated satellite
fading from the night

EC makes me better as a writer and a person.