Satellites of eyes orbit my dreams, cellophane specters inhabit this space of detachment. Here tongues are no longer foreign and  truth is the language I hold to my lips. Without fear  my mind dances gently into the compulsory night that folds into hours of  illusion.

My mind slips slowly

 into the subtle night that

folds softly into hours.

These veiled eyes close in the

hollow silence,

this holy sanctuary of solitude

where there is no fear

of  battle.

Melancholy is my sentry.

Follow us into

my chasm of insecurities,

I will not turn away

because tonight  I am weak.

art by Lu Jianjun