Sunday, December 21, 2014

turn of the card ...




the crone's bones become my own
raven-feather-black as december's midnight 
no gradual mutation ... no
it is now 
this ancient hourglass impact 
a single cello plays somewhere to the west 
and 
I tremble at the quake of the redbuds leaves 
quixotic felted breath of breeze
upon skin freckled & creased
where in furrows hide 
regret, loss & redemption 
pale knots of celtic myth & mingle 
as prism'd comes the day
brittle the knowledge of sacrifice
buoyant the joy of love
in these crone bones 



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