FALSE  DAWN

Middle of the night

and the horizon is

a red smear

that mocks the rising sun

Clouds form horrid faces

that cry in silent agony

as wind rips away

their spectral flesh

Vaporous fingers

clutch at the moon

and barely touch the man’s pale face

before dissolving empty-handed 

into space

You tell me we are tied to nature

like a child in the womb

Not certain I believe this

I search your face

your eyes

for traces of the pain