let us go beyond naming and
enter the spirit of the matter—
tear down the fences that divide
this bone is not bone, it is bone
this flesh is not flesh, it is flesh
this stone stands beyond stone
wash away the scarlet boundaries
cast by the plough, hewn by scythe
listen to the small known by "night"
needlethreading the dream
fragile in porcelain pale
stitching her fabric close
shift skies on the flint
slip steel on white
a twist, a turn, on veil
shadow scrim moving thin
shadow unmine, carry
beyond this windtorn coil
reaching for
something profound
in red dog dreams,
coming up with
handfuls of dust
wondering if
pale hands will
finally carry me gentle
under the wave &
north away home
these semicolon days
with that breathy pause
before twilight turns to night
the winter queen waiting
with a yawn and stretch
dreaming of scarlet and black
both wrists bared and
knees to the earth
a surrender to stone
and hearth
lost weirds wording
mute mouth movement
i blind eye my fuzzy sight
waiting for fires to burn
your permission is
not my intention
your permission is
not my affliction
i break earth in lines
in my own damned time
nightsitting, waiting
giving over to my dross
'til she bare feet comes
never touching ground
never turning 'round, again
I travel long distances without leaving my home.
This is truth.
I pull the hood over my head, cover my eyes and I am back on the road, blacktop beneath my soles, blackthorn in my hand, tall pines doused in their pungent cologne, rising tall and casting everything shadow.
This is truth
Blacktop fades to gravel fades to black dirt stained grey and the birch draw closer, birds talking from the broad reeds, powder puff cattails and rushes green. Giving directions. Giving meaning.
This is truth.
Feeling gravities pull to gloaming space, I ramble on.
This is truth.
leaving oceans west
we turn & leave sun
to tread north & night
to tombstone & ice
with frenzies far spent
we give of thorn, scathed
with waves washing
blades dig black to snow
calling of moon
hand cast stones at
the nothing of alone
washing the waves
on over my night eyes
even the wights wait
to speak, chewing silence
scoring steel with flint
seeking sparks in empty
skrit skrat skreet
we are the ravens
at their clams
sputtering flames
we gather to heat
chill bones
