The sharp edge of the moon
slices everything in two and
words still unheard must exist
for it, too. When bloodlines
bring color to visions in sleep,
seven instinctive days on
repeat. Words for a feeling
that happened at all, the place
where a star slowly started
to fall, times-agos when words
were in us imparted, like dreams
without sound, heard miss
you wholehearteds