The Promise

        Sitting on tears, waiting for you
        Watching night-time trims its lamps -
        Entreating the Shroud
        With stars,
        Clutched from Heaven's breast -
        Your mute ridge draped
        By a mourning shadow.

        Sitting on memory, watching the road
        From your grave to my door.
        Priest of the wind, gone -
        The blizzard rules;
        Diamond reflections -
        Dew's wool in sun-streaks -
        Through my fingers
        Sink to the abyss.

        Sitting in silence, eyes on the ridge,
        Listening to whispers
        In the wind -
        Leaves, nodding to bird-songs,
        Cheering emptiness; An answer,
        A way to the stream,
        To drain my tears; quench the sorrow.

        The road not walked. Footsteps
        Awaited, lone scribe
        Of Janus.
        Quiet -
        On the tombstone sits
        The Promise.

       Sandstorms

        Tumbling across the green-sparse land,
        The encircling ebb, the galloping gust,
        The solemn surge, the mutant maze,
        The soaring swirl that rides the sands.

        Racing amidst the grains-
        Twirling the leaves-
        Holding the trees in your pouch,
        You beat the heat down the dusty road.

        I hear your howling
        Roaming the land. Driven
        By Wild Spirits,
        Till the Sky ends her tears
        And learns to dream again.

        Incessant, the hopes
        That fleet across,
        Holding the edges of yielding seams;
        Daring to split the haze
        That shrouds the door;
        My lone submission, my comfort, - this.

       The Passage

        Do not blind me with the flames
        As you descend
        From the black heavens;

        Grey upheavals renting the sky
        To dark depths;
        Balls of dark wool rimmed
        With white - churning to surf
        In the sky-sea.

        Looms in the clouds
        Weaving ebony - a cloak
        Hovering over the timid earth;
        Looming shadows, brooding.

        Do not blind me as you fall
        To the earth to lick
        This Sacrifice;
        Bright-hot branches, forked tongues
        That stoke the crash and rumble.

        Wild winds lashing
        At the hinds; herding the clouds
        To the reign of rain.

        Priest at the altar
        Bare my soul; rip
        This vessel with the whiplash,
        Vent the fury as it seethes
        On my mould - unzip this robe of clay.

        Do not blind me as you fall,
        Priest at the altar of the sacrifice -
        Let, the lightning from its leash;
        Purge me with the flames.