vagrant flame
The ashen rain flakes from the veiled sky’s eye
pale petals against the inflamed sunset
beneath that eye, burning ones lie to die
and in my wake the angels break to rest.
The furnace puffs the season into ash
each new moon I cull the kiln of its bloom
with pyre-worn arms I scrub off the rash
turning rose gardens into grey stone tombs
The grey stone swallowed the sun's searing gold
I trace the charred streak running lip to chest
cradling cremains till ash begins to hold
the ash-born bird will rise from its cold nest
I take new shape each spring unfurling wings
I dance in bonfire with each breath sun brings.
coarse yew
long river