peeling back my birch paper
with the breath of the wind
what pussy willows sway grey
then?
clear water slipshifts of lake
to stream and i wonder
of where it wanders to fill
surrendering
to slate, feather, bone
peel off a piece of pale
and hold it as your own
a memento to my stone
all the pretty young vampires
and some even old —
lurking in the shadows
vying for ways to avoid sun
i wish my finger were a gun
that blasted away the scrims
these bloodsuckers hide
themselves behind and
daylight their pestilence away
Previously posted on sceadugenga.com on 18mar25. Reposted with audio.
going back to the real
hands smudged black
and dirt under nails
gravel yellow crush
i listen at forests for
wisdom crowing loud
leave to crowds where
crowds are wont to go
enough of deaf gods mute
i am not what they need
left to wending paths
through silent sentinels
gone to follow the call
standing grey
heron stone tall
can you carve the
shape of me?
can you carry the
weight of me?
slate skies over
of the under below
mouth to mouth
sends us to hum
mouth to mouth
cages winter sun
i fever weary
slaked in slick
slaked in foam
beyond threes of three
tide cold carry me
tide cold carry me home
with flames burning
bright in his head
he wanders woodward
his wodewose embraced
in feather and bone and
of ash and of stone
he slips between
shadow and shade
that lailoken of lake
and of forests aglow