given of shadows
painted sliver moon
a fingernail pressed to
flesh renders cinnabar
chipped-tooth, still
i skate thin the edge
pricked pine at all bends
singing pain to wash pain
— here we go again
night, i slip to her embrace
rooted inside
a heart cries embers
kissing the horizon
she slipsbone pale
fingers slick of hope
at return on the
other side of night
we wave and
give to grave our
many pasts on
black wings
of the crow
simple things:
four different ways
skies and stone
above and below
and those places
left in between
black sheen brow
crossed of blood
cut ashen
i turn my
flint head away
given to pressing petals of
her fragrant valley sheltered
drinking her butterfly wine
grown over gone under
lingers myrrh sweet inside
slumber her summer slopes
tracing dew along her lines...
who would wish for return
after lingering this vale?
come this solstice night
& follow me dark river
nadir kissed & ragged lips
under her lacuna moon
come this solstice night
& twist shadow at murder
cross silver ashen pale
to carry her winter words
come this solstice night
we stand stone whores with
blood marked cheeks
under her lacuna moon
phantasm i the winter white
flowing through empty
fingers trace rail wood ruddy
dust undisturbed to wake
linger long hallways and
snow queen her dwelling
in the still failing faint,
unseen her dark eyes
stone blind the woodpost
and standing antler pale
we nightwing under
falling into her lovi
love, fallen in her
let us dream a song-her
let us fall within her home
we heartdrum blackwing
at edge lake drift snow
we break our under
lovi, we dream us,
deep within her home
i feel a drift
coming on &
may take the fade
on a spell;
nothing ever remains
for the feast
at me
empty of understanding...
when i say i am stone,
i am not stone, i am stone
when i say i will river
i do not river, i just river
when i branch at tree
i am not branch, but i am tree
when i say of she i dream
it is not she, but it is me
these are times my vandal mouth
should be sutured shut
before someone sees
these broken words i bleed
soon, no one will call and read nothing back to me.
carving obsidian beyond bone
scraping down to marrow
still more: how can you cut further?
by slipping to shadows of shadows
to places behind the behind
kissing flint in the darkest of times
we grew of flowers once
we grew of trees, now
snow stained scarlet...
stripped to heartwood
we stand the granite over doors