She is in the night sky,
or rather its shadow.
a wisp, a woman,
a ghost that split the cosmos,
and made the horizon into her wings.
They say she is close
when you taste chaos upon your tongue;
the pop fizz of death
and the sweet tang of sleep.
She is the first goth
and learn to twist the constellations
into a corset,
and her dance brought awe
until daylight sneaks into view.
A jealous daughter, daylight is
and she chases her mother darkness
from the stage with disco balls, pink confetti,
and bird call cackles.
She is the night sky
and twists us within her view,
and you can almost hear her calling
in every night breeze.
Poetic Trials 