I was so very alone
and it was okay
I knew it.
I could finally hear
the space between the breathing,
it had been the gaps which I had missed
In solitude, I am fed by invisible hands,
I am nourished.
I am touched thoroughly by the sweet sombre soak of
the way life falls
back upon itself, shadows content
their silent places
in the dark.
through the curl of naked leaves,
fell trees sleep in the palm
of my snow tongue.
Where you touch me
I walk along dirt trails and stone
draping the smolder of twilight
over silver pine cone
Cranberry crowns, a slate gray world
atop a fading day
another season comes
Wolves’ hunger, the ravenous dark is a reverent seed
sewn upon the sweet milk
of my breast.
Ribbons of fingers skimming cream thrown walls,
cast crow shadows are lanterns
and you, a purple northern evening.
I long for the way
the white owl sun swells underneath the fog
in a falling sky.
What is it about the slice of winter in the veins that burns
like red fire,
frost on frost kisses
and the numb tingle
Shivering children, hearts which burn of eternal seasons, we are
cloaked rich in generous silence, held in birch wood hands
kissing the mouths of honeyed stars,
juniper corsets laced along frosted
all eyes, beloveds, search wide the dressings
of the wind.
We are threading this life we breathe through a keyhole
tiny snow birds on pine wings on trees,
arms around circles of smoke skin
Summon clarity, summon release,
drink this wine and remember these
ours is an unspoken language
taught by the teachers
Seek with fever the home inside yourselves, hold close to you a foreign distance,
this life of returns,
touch softly upon her walls of shadows
in dreams which bloom on cinnamon ghosts
bathe your pale bodies in milk streams
falling water gently on knees.
This winter night has been ever long, hard and cold
as rock reflects the light of the moon and reveals her features.
In this dark house we learn to listen
and to sing.