Of Hands and Moons
From nothing that cheats and twists
To nothing of me that falls asleep
Of me that falls asleep, the tidying of pain
Folded in the shadow of my fear;
is it here that I dream of the dead?
A hand in the sunset from which I fall asleep
From which I fall asleep,
will take the time of a full journey of terrors
That will pay the price of a tissue of heat
Thrown at the feet of the thieves
To wrap myself in what I dream of the dead.
-Jean-Pierre Duprey, from 4×1. Buy 4×1 today.
Poem of the Month 
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