ask the clouds if you want to find me,
I have fallen off again, paths too narrow,
roads too straight. every river ends in the sea.
I seek the old water, lost in the ghost of an ocean
buried in the bluest ice or a river carved out of sky.
the iron of my blood sings true when
I have the mouth to let it.
my ears hear the whisper of the grass
speaking to the the stones and my eyes
are not afraid of the dark.
sometimes my heart is a lark others a crow foraging
through the long winter either way it flies. always seeking
a way into tomorrow
.
No comments:
Post a Comment