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tell me no more


Tell me no more of your dogs of war.

I choose another way. No longer tossed

by midnight’s twitch. No longer seeking

the applause of pistols. The wolf moon

will have to continue its nocturnal prowl

without my assistance.


The guillotine of open window will always

await the night stalker. The lonely will lurk

beneath the sills. Seed will bear fruit, fruit

will bare seed. The stars will ripen to reveal

the hidden cloister’s open gate, where we

shall all be meeting once again.


Until then I choose the way of the samara,

the maple pod spinning in the unshod wind.

The sky swarming with the lust of emerging

life. The tattoo of wingbeat calling me home.

As if I was once again a child, but whole

and humming cantillations of astonishment.

Published in The Healing Muse

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