Red Cloaks

Restless nights like
legs kicking at the tides
that flew by our way
when we kissed
the moon in its infinite
sunder.
This back and forth boon
is stark and heady.

My hungry soul
keeps grasping at
cardboard hearts with
windows so rickety you can
taste the dust
underneath their sills.
An ocean couldn’t
begin to quench this
hunger.

Hunger that burns
like a thousand sparks
igniting the sky.
We are held
suspended in bounds
fashioned from fables
of wolves and red cloaks.

Of hunters and prey.
The innocent and the knowing
dance under circles
of stars, inky black
and waiting for
the other to strike or
to lay down.