I’ve been walking through red forests
where desperate winds blow
against my every step,
trying to force me off the path.
The moons float far above the trees
and the night weighs on my shoulders.
The trees begin to crumble right before my very eyes
and the moons don’t say a word, too far away, too high.
The night keeps pressing on my shoulders.
The trees keep crumbling to the ground.
Why do I care about the moons so high?
Why should I care about a moon-soaked sky
when I’m standing on loose soil
in the shadows of red trees
that shroud me from light mystery?
I’m thinking how the stars that you have stolen
for your eyes, your mouth, your smile
no longer work to give you face
but have begun to melt you in your place.
Yes, I’m still standing here
in the shadows of red trees;
in the white-hot glow of your night eyes
dreaming how this comes to be.