sun do not rise

By Chie Theresa Fujioka

the watercolour blood feels.
it feels warm
on my melting snow hands...
like that sensation
a forgotten sensation,
of watching my dear precious blossoms
collide and crumple
somewhere between destiny and fate
surprisingly silent the grief sleeps,
a death I learned to live
.
all the frightened colours
are inverted, perverted
the death of each blackened star
from unearthly sheets of purer white
their muted celestial dust cover mine
and I, undone, reform
from the darkened past, reborn
this wilderness desert of shining sand
is still in the dawn of night
sun do not rise

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