howling for a storm
arched into
the teeth of the wind
the southerlies push
what fills
the rain
into me
I finger-comb
the pieces
of falling debris
the drifted gifted
caught litter lifted
like words from
bird songs that
speak languages
buried in the rocks
I am out of my mind
more than inside it lately
veining the elements
watching how the blood
of things pools and waits
for the thinnest ripe of skin
to begin an excavation
each tilled seeded grow
each bladed cup row
holds the tides and
washes the stars
in the dark
like love
carving
each birth
I have
by candlelight
crawling Winter
to Beltane
dark ribbons
to light again
EJR (c)
Damn silent E Edward...editing without my glasses again makes me crawl like an ass through sin...quite a taste of the good life,there...namaste folks...thanks for reading...
ReplyDeleteI love this, especially these:
ReplyDelete"the southerlies push
what fills
the rain
into me
I finger-comb
the pieces
of falling debris"
"watching how the blood
of things pools and waits
for the thinnest ripe of skin
to begin an excavation"