A Poem: "The Third Night"

The Third Night
By Jenna Reimer

Our way is in the breeze flowing
Amongst all the trees, all their boughs,
All their leaves; an imperfect vice.
The transparencies that, too, is imperfect
bond our breath
Into one lucid sigh of leadened-love.
My eye is your eye within a shade
Of ballooned moonlight
Where we drift into an unfinished bliss;
An imperfect virtue.
We will never drag our hunger and stay,
Artless like stones against a barren sky.