rituals
and routines
the night trapped the moon
in the canopy of the swinging pines.
the drops of silver tremble, roll
drip from the cold pine needles
into the fire.
we are both present at the ritual.
we stay on opposite sides
at the funeral of you and me.
the web of life is ablaze
your eyes drown in the darkness
and the rain breaks through mine.
the black spiders tirelessly
spin yarn
from my window…
invisible in the daylight
c:Nina K Orlovskaya@8/21/2012
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