, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

in the mist
that was my yesterdays
ten thousand silent birds
– beyond my will to hear
are singing now
but for the night
of wing’ed flight
to worlds beyond my birth
was never meant
a path to me somehow

speckled green
and tattered blues
patchwork bursts of reason
stitched with time
but worn the rest away
hung to line
the veil between
here I am and ever
– someone speaks
and I don’t know their name

shutter speed
as autumn peaks
to fall beneath the cedars
climbing up
to make my bed beyond
little lights
to prick my skin
– who am I to tell
when left outside the gate
a moment long

pressed into
the winter wheat
smelled of other courage
and where our
dreams have gone –
I couldn’t say
leaving takes the
longest time
when all the crops come in
– the mist is rising slowly
to melt my fears