i came, poured in a rush of stars,
and with open mouth I swallowed.
we are all, on the inside,
composed of points of light
constructing monuments from memory,
which once complete
reveal the shape of our lives.
that energy repetitive in it's manifestation
knows not how to stop.
the dead (if there were such a thing)
live in three places, so we honour,
gather, bless, glimpse the sacred,
lay stones in rings and speak through shapes.
we drink from bowls of baked earth and dream
of a safe passage to wider horizons.
and I was just thinking about outlines,
the world before us in sun and starlight,
the way we overlap.
as of now and always I dance
with you, my little god of transitions,
trace a finger along the heartline beneath the gaze
of winter kings gathering in the dark
conjuring storms with faces turned to imagined icons.
and ask you to remember,
every so often when the ground shakes it's me
who is you, shape shifting out of sheep's clothing
in our scorned cloak of silver linings.