The hurt of a game.
Myth has played with the─
life of a song bird.

A dream becomes opaque.
You cannot find any─
image of blood.

A window shuts─
the moon. The rainbow will
grope for a sky.

And I must find
some excuse to live. The nascent
hope outleaps the black─

rain falling on eyes. Panic
grips poppies. They throw up the
color, the fresh dawn.