Until

Invisible,
until the moon wakes you,
gives you nightly life.
Tethered to a scream,
a scratchy rustle,
the moan of something deep within the throat.
Until the dawn returns and you are still.

Invisible.
A heap of cloth and bones,
until you’re fashioned,
made to dance a jig.
Tears of yellow sway
and lick at every twirl and ragged beat,
until you’re caught and turned to ash – until.

This is my second duodora , and I rather like it as a form. This post is linked to a Creative Writing Ink photo prompt (https://creativewritingink.co.uk/writing-prompts/).

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