Midnight Air,

the orange blackness;

rode upon a white horse.

Laughing tears.

Speaking in unknown tongues.

The wind grew angrily.

Peacefully,

moving brick and gravel.

She gave out colds to the little ones without heart.

She sat on the skin old men.

A dream on fire;

don’t think that my dreams have burned down.

I was not selected.

I’ll try a little harder.

Hoard all disappointment to the left.

Retrieve my soul

Teach my Soul to Dream

Poet Krissy Mosley