Circling Moons

When the time faults, it 
becomes metaphysical for me― 
to write a poem in flesh and blood. 

A night's terror, descends. 
Buzz of an insect hovers, 
until I give in. 

A thoughtess invasion― 
makes you unstable, when 
you reach the heights, where 
snow wails, time and space 
start collapsing. 

A vacuum bubble expands 
into a dome. You draw frescoes 
in dream. The colors penetrate. 
Blind landings begin. 

Looks as if you were sitting with dead, 
till eternity.