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

storm tree

she waits
holding to the thrill
of his slow approach
known
consented to

she sways
as he nears
electricfying skin
willing
soon to be covered
in her lover’s sweat

she accepts
his sonorous voice
dances her furious dance
eyes closed
flailing limbs
lost in the passion of it all

flood and drought

quasi drunk

on these precious petals

plucked by trembling 

finger tips of good faith

and half willing

only to appease

our inability to change

 

but they are in no measure 

what mother needs

to keep her flesh

from bleeding out

and crying for us

her lost ones

who can only cling

to her withering skin

and our own false

hope

night rain

haven’t we heard enough
of this insatiable thirst
lapping at our bones
and our land
our windows and doors
it’s as if to say
‘just to remind you
we might not stop
if we choose’
but for now it’s just bluff
they will lull us to sleep
and slip away before
the light wakes
an obliterate world