RH

Photo by Mishal Ibrahim on Unsplash

it is a lonely spirit, isn’t it?

moss-drunk
swamp-sunk
gathering

you were the heft of pool
beneath its gravity —
sucked into a stomach of
sky

I lost you there
in the undercurrents
but you had laid
yourself down like a
grave

you told me
melancholy paints
a violent
dawn

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“The Twa Corbies” Arthur Rackham — “Some British Ballads” (1919)

a bullet is the tongue of fear

and an unkindness of ravens
will be slaughtered, for didn’t

you know? they are bad luck:
singed with the slick

of evil. and you ask why I
do not believe in words. they are

gunpowder.

did you ever see a dying cat? …

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Oct 24, 2020

Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash

he un-buries the sun
from the grave
in his backyard

and offers her back
to the sky

(he has broken
too many
hearts
harnessing
light)

(he has awoken the
winter
and its
brittle-back
nights)

the clouds
tuck her tight
in their pockets

just one locket
of gold
breaks free.

She…

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