Waning Crescent

Flooding until my tip toes
       grace the skimming surface,
       as the beaming orange beacon
       waves the crescive guilt.
It folds over,
       gently tumbling until
       the vicious reality sinks--a beaten track.
Rising until it strikes the surface
      fizzle, to eruption
      denial, to justification.
My blind eye disentangles the obscurity
       and the pixelations form a rough outline
       painting an image of sufferance.

The Parting Clouds

Wayward bound and steadfast slumber,
       slipping into the myriad possibilities
       of Your unremitting labyrinth.
They brush, softly flowing closed until
       friction meets forgiveness,
       pulse meets perforation,
       trust meets truth.
Bowed back
       as it cascades in crystalline droplets
       forming a hazy image
       distinguishable for the first time.
Your smile beams down in warm ripples
       flushing my cheeks in reverence.
Each muscle extends, folding under
       drifting as I beat against the wind,
       hair sailing in pieced fragments
Fingers reaching to You.