bunker

their bones speak
whispering from the solid earth
that gives them harbour

and the grimace
that their past has formed
must be met with a stoical eye

in the blend of all that has gone
and the focus we see
in all that is to come

of prescience

a soul warming day
of thoughtful cold and grey
of quiet movement
and a tolling bell summoning the rain
of which each heavenly pearl
enraptures me more deeply still
into the lanes and light that built my bones
and freshly coat the paths that walk me back
to where I will rest my head once more
when the evening comes
and softly lays me down

blush

blush
mocked grey clouds
slow to pink
beginning the quiet song
that lifts our eyes
to their opulence
our shallow breath
at one in their moment
but too soon
we close our hearts
when their song has faded
into shadow

widen woods

did I know only good things
in the life I walked as a boy
striding like a milk-fed king
into the deepening woods
its gentle brooding and dank breath
seeping in my limber soul

and here I nailed my fledgling spirit
to the scabrous skin of every tree
staking a claim on these
melancholy choristers
to assert my own world
against the growing void