red curtain
hangs down
from the bar
gently fall
through the
fabric entrance
unless the
storm blows
the red curtain
open
and the rain
drives in.
or birdsong
leaks through
or it changes,
someday,
from red
to blue
from thought
to reality.
YOU ARE READING
asterism
Poetrya prominent pattern of words too small to forge through the deep yet large enough to accompany space.
