when ink of night spills
stealing the last of your light
remember the moon
looking ever entwined
bisected and barbwired
half-hidden, but whole
merely tree-shadowed
from your pang-tangled up view
only an illusion
morning waits for you
untethered, open-armed
dawn will deny the darkness
Hosting the Quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets Pub. The word I have chosen to include in your 44 word poem is “tangle” or any derivative of the word. Doors open at 3 p.m. Feel free to join in.
Image: Michelle Beauchamp
mishunderstood 