Lift me up on your bent wing.
Swoop me away, through the misty night
Into the forest.
There we will commune
With wolf-ghosts and ancient trees.
We will sing with the spirits,
Ululate with owls,
Keen with all beings over our losses,
And send out blessings and gratitude
For All That Remains.
Having divested myself of my tears,
And having rekindled my hope,
Let me curl up in the roots
Of Grandfather Cedar,
Pillow my head with moss,
Pull pine boughs over my shoulders
And escape to my haven of forgetfulness:
One from summer of 2014, kids. I am without a computer at present, but will make the rounds of the Poetry Pantry on Sunday with my trusty tablet.