Haibun Yin

In the way that you mourn for the past-- dying embers floating lonesome, seeds

burning into the shrouded night, like you, like me. it carries not comfort of warmth-of worth- but burning, singed skin flushed with spiking chemicals and fraying lace, so seductive in its familiarity, raging temptress of poor resolve

You, me, arrested

dance atop the angered coals

Moonlight, she deceives