river tide

at the echo of
our moons wish
cold waters scurry

its plague of ripples
a long drawn breath
back into the lungs of the land

urging the freedom of its flotsam
that drag like windless kites on
a pulled sheet from the bed

this brackish pulse
held to the will of another
fulfilling a promise

will spirits dance

where will they fly
our errant spirits
sunlit spores rising cleansed
from the glue of old bones

perhaps
too young to leave just yet
so captured in the spark
of a new nascent dawn
to redeem life’s sweet tastes again

perhaps
purified through many lives
let loose to feel a fresher wind
encouraging their flight
to dance new astral plains

three ravens

for Dad. Safe travels

three ravens had flown
called by the thinning breeze
up to where the spirits come
to see if he was waiting there

he will be coming they said
walking through old pastured lands
lain fallow now for many years
with withered roots and flowers laid bare

and when he comes
we will watch him pass
the purest self through an open heart
and blend beyond into endless air