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