The return

Beautiful things
become stained.

The way she shudders,
her tounge tied
at reciting the Lord’s Prayer
since he crossed her at thirteen.

Or the way thunder
feels fearful,
the smell of rain bringing
tears after his son
washed away.

Or the way that bright
moon became black
when he took part of me
and didn’t put it back.

But you
picked up
my heart in darkness and
turned my blue veins
red. You covered me
in pale light again.

You changed the moon
for me.