We stare at the sun to forget
And the moon, to remember
Sometimes, what we forget during daytime
Are the places inside the heart that keeps you ticking
Where love amasses her own treasures.
We are not all meant to be kites during daylight hours
Or jewels in a clay utensils. We linger in the transparency
Of fate, success or defeat, and we make
Renaissances our own habits, our own renewals.
And the moon is what keeps us alive.
The night hours that deprive the mind
Of thought ammunition and an amulet of flesh
Carving open clement times, and the heart
Preserving the folly and the nonsensical
We are only as awake as the moon hours
And dead from dawn till dusk…
Love by nature is a nocturnal feeder
And we are all fruit bats searching in the dark
For a mere echo of an abnormal heartbeat
A palpitation of the extraordinary
For the love fruit grows not on pectoral branches
Only inside the pericardial chamber.