backwards
and still –
I come every time
forgetting again
what was never my lot –
a river of feathers
float on the air
crushed by the branches
in rush
to the sea

of white
honeysuckle
the hardest
of pearls –
hands thick as bark
beaded briar
whispers long buried
as story with stone
lacey white nest
of the earth

wing’ed the velvet
of once magic swords
pass as a thought into day –
stallions embarked
on paths cross the deep
nature foretelling
the depth of
our sins

ripples are tracing
paths –
thru the black
lost are the seasons
unspoken by name
babies are crying
somewhere past the dark –
stars feel their way
to the sun

. . .