postfaith

I pity the hive filled with the dying

who admire wild colours in

paintings of winter

carved by praying mantises

I loop through a dream about nights

with missing stars,

the barefoot look at three gold stripes

nailed to the skyline

-harbingers of spring-

with coins in their pockets,

eternally surprised by fall’s ending

Soon there is just frost

on the side of the painting,

the hive will rise up and

slay the mantises,

melting fake colours away  

screaming

“for the sake of self-love!”